Code name Crimson Hare
by wolfd890
Summary: 'Theft. It is an especially sweet vice. More elegant than vandalism and more complex than simple robbery'. Words to live by, and there are few in Europe as talented and driven as the Crimson Hare. A tale of a true gentleman thief and the Police Inspector hell-bent on capturing him.
1. Chapter 1

**CodeName; Crimson Hare by wolfd890**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own HP, and do not make any sort of mulla by writing.**

 **A/N: I've touched up the first few chapters to help with flow and wordiness. Also, if you recognize the first phrase in the description then you get a gold star ;)**

 **Happy reading**

With the pull of a cigarette, a fleeting but brilliant orange glow illuminated the handsome features of a young man. He was leaning against the rough stone wall of a nondescript building lining the narrow, cobblestone faced street. The location had been chosen with care, he noted, between two poorly spaced street lights.

The pinprick of light went unseen in the dense fog that had overtaken the city in the hours following the sun's departure. It reminded the man enjoying the vice of his old home, loathe as though he was to be reminded of it.

It was damp and cold, unseasonably so for Summer, early though it was. A weather system pushing down from the north Atlantic perhaps? With a silent sigh, the bluish smoke escaped from between his lips, mixing with the water vapor hanging like a wet, heavy blanket around much of the French Capital.

Of course, no respectable member of society would be moving about this part of the city, especially at this hour. Good thing he wasn't here to meet anyone respectable then, he thought with a grin.

The sharp clicking of shoes on the rounded cobblestones echoed loudly through the street, alerting him that someone was approaching.

"You're early." A male voice stated in French, nothing more than a silhouette.

"Oui" he greeted back in the same tongue, pulling a thick manila envelope from his overcoat. "I'm sure you can appreciate not being made to wait out here any longer than need be."

The man wordlessly accepted the envelope, trusting its contents were to his satisfaction. Judging by the heft, they were. A single key was pressed into the smoking man's hand, along with a whispered set of words.

"Gare Du Nord Train Station, West Wing, First Floor."

A nod of gratitude followed though it went unseen by the already retreating figure, their transaction concluded. He stood there for a few moments longer, savoring the last of the Tobacco before finally flicking the lit butt towards the ground.

He'd always liked trains.

oOo

Ten years ago…

Click-click, click-click.

The soft, repetitive noise bleeding into the passenger compartment from the wheel assemblies below was threatening to lull him into a near hypnotic trance, as the High-speed train zipped through the picturesque landscape. They were somewhere between Lyon and Torino, according to the small screen hanging over the center aisle, but to be honest it didn't matter.

It was early evening, and the sun was low in the sky, bathing everything in its warm, yellow glow. The contrast between the golden, ever-moving fields of wheat, and the dark, menacing shadows cast by the surrounding woodland made for stunning contrasts. In the distance, a single stubby peak of a village church bell tower jutted past the motley collection of burnt red terra cotta, silhouetted against the sparrow blue sky. The light was doing marvelous things to the scenery, and everywhere one looked, there was a profound beauty to behold.

Click-click, click-click.

The thick steel tracks were laid in a bed of gravel, supported by concrete ties, and the two parallel lengths terminated in a staggered pattern to create the rhythmic transition when the wheels traveled over the welded joints.

His eyes were beginning to grow heavy. It hadn't been a particularly strenuous day, though he was beginning to understand what people meant when they said travel can be exhausting.

"Listen closely, my boy" the gravelly voice of his mentor, friend, and adopted father in all but name pulled his attention from the sights and sounds beyond the large glass window of their train carriage. He forced himself upright, the movement serving to pull him out of the fog that had settled in his mind.

He used to hate being called that, back when he was living with his Aunt and Uncle. But coming from the kind, grandfatherly man next to him, it sounded endearing. As always, he dedicated his full attention to the impromptu lesson, whenever they may present themselves.

Quite odd for a boy of one and ten, but then again, he'd never known the distraction of toys and games like most children had. But more importantly, he'd learned long ago that the man sitting across from him was unrivaled in his craft, considered far and wide to be the best at what he did.

And if he wanted to honor the boastful claim made on the first day they'd met, then hard work was going to be required.

"People are a thief's greatest asset, whether unwittingly or otherwise. The purpose of this trip is to meet with an old friend, but it is also to gain hold of a missing puzzle piece."

"A puzzle piece?" the boy repeated.

"Hmmm," the man rumbled in affirmation. "A puzzle piece of the mind." His index finger traveled to his temple, tapping it gently.

"Said piece could have easily been acquired through a simple phone call, perhaps a two-minute exercise. Far more efficient than a journey such as this, no?" He paused for a moment to gaze out of the window. "But then we wouldn't have had the opportunity to experience such a wonderful train ride."

The boy smiled and his guardian chuckled.

"However, the true purpose of this visit is that friends, true friends, appreciate when others go out of their way for them. Remember that Harry, and should you ever find yourself in trouble, there will always be a safe port nearby to shield you from the storm."

oOo

The man he'd just interacted with certainly wasn't on Harry's friend list, though the small but kind gesture of being early might one day pay off. Who knew?

Walking away from the encounter, the young man passed underneath an amber streetlight, illuminating his handsome, youthful features to a camera lens jutting from a bush in a nearby green strip.

Though the orange light and fog made it difficult to tell for sure, he had short, dark hair, neatly trimmed at the sides and back, longer and more unruly at the top. He seemed of average height, though the large, wool overcoat made it difficult to determine build.

The narrow street soon merged into a larger, well-lit boulevard. Nearby, a street sweeping crew moved about slowly, two coverall clad men spraying down the filth that accumulated over the weeks since this area had last seen such a service.

The hissing of the pressurized water more than covered the shutter trip the half-dozen times.

Upon clearing the last building, the man moved towards a wide set of stone stairs that led to the lower walking path by the river, moving silently and at a brisk pace. Turning immediately after the last step, he ducked under an archway supporting the southern edge of the bridge. This area had seen generous amounts of city funding over the last few years, revitalizing the river shore and allowing pedestrian access to Seine.

From afar, both sides of the underpass were visible, and his pursuers were not concerned about losing him. A minute passed, then two. After the third, the two men, clad in black and wearing hats moved up, making sure to keep alert and out of sight.

Yet apart from a snoring bum lying on a cardboard mat, the underpass was deserted. There were no doors leading to the underground, which could often be found in such places, and the man didn't look like he'd willingly jumped into the frigid waters for a swim.

"La Vache, he got away." One of the two cursed, not pleased in the slightest. The other simply sighed at his vocal partner. "All right, let's mark this one as a possible Utilisateur Magie."

They glanced at the bum again, briefly entertaining the idea that it might be their man in disguise. The dirty street person, for all intents and purposes, seemed oblivious to the two men standing less than a meter away.

"C'mon, let's get out of here. Merde, the Boss is going to be pissed."

The cold, damp space grew silent once more, save for the snores from the passed out drunk. Fifteen feet above, Harry James Potter, formerly of England, undid the sticking charm on his back, allowing himself to be pulled towards the ground by gravity. He landed soundlessly and took his time straightening out from the deep crouch following the landing.

'Well then, wasn't this interesting' he thought to himself. Not five minutes after starting this venture in earnest, and he was already attracting the attention of les autorités.

Excellent.

Pulling a little black stick from his coat, he silently flicked a warming and cushioning charm at the less fortunate man resting by the wall. As an afterthought, he deposited a fifty franc note in his pocket. With a near-silent crack, the Wizard disappeared.

Then and only then did the last remaining person of this odd little encounter stir. The grime-covered face morphed into a heart-shaped one, framed by pink, shoulder-length hair.

A pleased grin formed on her pretty face, at odds with the shabby clothes she wore.

"I finally found you, kiddo."

oOo

Three weeks earlier:

The setting was an elaborately decorated if dated, office. Strange artifacts and oil-based paintings could be found aplenty. And in the center of the circular room, an ancient-looking man with snow-white beard could be found dozing in a high-backed wooden chair.

The piece of furniture did not look comfortable, but the man did not seem to mind. To his left, an impressive avian with orange plumage sat on a brass rod, its intelligent eye transfixed on the small bowl of treats on the desk.

It was going over the risk/reward scenario of making a run at the bowl when a light pecking echoed through the otherwise still rooms. The tapping was enough to wake the man, and he quickly identified the source of the disturbance.

Too tired for pleasantries, he let the postage own inside and offered up the bowl his familiar had been eyeing, much to its displeasure.

The brown bird carried a single white envelope, unmarked and unaddressed.

Of course, the man hadn't reached the impressive age of one hundred and thirty-two by carelessly opening up unknown mail, though there was a time in the distant past when such naivety could still be found within him. It truly was distant though. With but a gesture of his hand, the piece of stationary gently floated from the windowsill and onto the desk.

From there, he cast an array of detection based spells that could determine everything from poison to compulsion, and every nasty little thing in-between.

Satisfied it was safe to handle, he sliced open the top with his favorite letter opener. Inside was a small piece of parchment and a newspaper. He ignored both in favor of the container they arrived in. To cast an expansion charm on a paper envelope was no mean feat, and he took the time to appreciate the charms work that went into its creation.

Despite the note being the logical thing to read first, he couldn't help but notice that the paper was of French origin.

Opening the folded piece of stationary it read;

Page 7, bottom-most column

N.F

Hmmm, he knew his old friend didn't like to write, but this was getting ridiculous. Well, it had been some time since he'd indulged himself with anything written in the French language. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to brush up on it.

Unfolding the Le Monde, he was reminded of how novel it was to read a muggle publication. His brain was expecting to see movement, and it was distracting when there was none. Skipping the crossword, he focused on the page in question, and nearly choked on a sweet he'd been sucking on for the last thirty seconds.

After a mildly painful coughing fit, he scrutinized the still photo closely. The likeliness was uncanny, but of course, he couldn't be sure. The article below was about something wholly unrelated, but it did provide a location.

The Petit Palais Museum in Paris.

He leaned back into the chair, both fatigued and excited all at once. If it was really _him_ , then it would be the first solid lead in almost fifteen years! He checked the paper again. Yesterday's issue. Excellent.

He made a mental note to send his old friend something extra special this Christmas as thanks, before sitting back down and subconsciously stroking his beard, something he often did when trying to work through a problem. And this one was bound to be tricky to navigate.

But what an unexpected stroke of luck! It seemed he was simply passing by in the background as the picture was taken.

Pulling a blank piece of parchment from the desk drawer, the elderly man scrawled out a quick note before handing it over to Fawkes.

"Please deliver this to Auror Tonks right away. It seems we have an urgent new assignment for her."

oOo

An identical copy of the same newspaper rested on a nigh black polished table of a richly decorated and spacious study, where it had lain, undisturbed, for the last twenty days. The handcrafted piece of furniture separated two men, one of whom was sitting, while the other kneeled.

"My lord, the transfer has been made. The informant has been silenced."

A snake, previously unseen, slid from under the floor-length curtains and straight-up one of the chair's legs. The hooded man swallowed, heart rate elevated and perspiring as he reported.

"What of the buyer?" the man hidden in the shadows hissed. His outline could be seen in the hearth fire's light.

The kneeling man slowly reached into his pocket, retrieving the slender vial containing a milky substance. Hands shaking, he offered up the memory without being prompted to do so, and more importantly keeping his mouth shut. He knew better than to make small talk now. The Dark Lord's orders were clear. Identify the would-be buyer for an object his master desired. The agent had done just that, and now he had delivered it post-haste.

The vial floated away before being snatched from the air by pale, bony fingers. Head lowered, the messenger patiently waited, not daring to rise, or even look up until dismissed.

"Tell the Rat to continue shadowing our… person of interest."

The man silently recalled a brief prayer for the poor sod who'd managed to attract his master's attention. From the chair, a brief glint of teeth could be seen, making him wonder if he'd accidentally said it out loud.

"You are dismissed." The same hand waved.

He bowed lower, face now close enough to make out the individual grains of the dark hardwood floorboards. "By your leave, my lord."

He waited for the door to click shut, lovingly caressing the smooth, scaly skin of his familiar. With but a mental prompt, a spinning disk of liquid appeared, and the contents were tipped inside.

With more than a little disgust, he found himself emersed in the damp, wet streets of Paris. The Rat emerged from a curbside storm sewer grate and scurried down the sidewalk, its behavior mimicking that of an actual rodent perfectly.

How fitting.

It led him to the two men as they completed the switch. Pausing the memory, he leaned in close as the location was revealed.

Gare Du Nord Train Station.

The lack of light meant the two were nothing but humanoid-shaped shadows. He followed the key's recipient and paused the memory once again when he passed under a streetlight.

Oh, how the gods of fortune must smile upon him, he mused, mood lifted to such a degree that he actually laughed.

oOo

Two petite, yet solid hands slammed into the rich hardwood desktop with enough force to shake the large, ornate sneakoscope, causing it to jingle musically, though not in the way they remembered.

You see, the owner of the device never revealed its purpose to her subordinates until it actually became active. Only then were they made privy that no form of deception within the office's four walls was possible, or tolerated.

"You mean to tell me you lost our first solid lead on Crimson Hare in the last three months? I should fire you for incompetence!" the shrill, and young voice shouted in French, causing the nearby staff outside the office to cringe and whisper a silent prayer for their colleges currently receiving the sound tongue lashing.

"Mademoiselle please, we followed procedure to the letter! He moved out of our direct line of sight and simply disappeared!"

Both briefly glanced at the device again, grateful it remained silent. Little white lies were so common that people tended to weave them into everyday conversation, sometimes without even being aware.

"He?" she asked, her voice now calm. Oddly enough, the change in volume only served to cause them more distress.

"Oui, Mademoiselle." He produced a crisp headshot of the suspect, taken when he was moving under the street light. They'd had the wherewithal to visit the development studio first and at least bring her what little information they'd been able to gather.

The brunette studied the image for almost a minute, curious at first. But her beautiful features soon turned into a frown once more.

"What of the other? Have you identified him?"

"Jaque Rene." Her subordinate immediately supplied, glad to be moving past the unpleasant news from earlier. "The second team tracked him to his apartment and is standing by. We are awaiting your instructions."

"Bring him in for questioning." The Woman ordered, still looking at the picture.

"Right away!" They both stood and saluted, before beating a hasty retreat.

Inspector Hermione Jean Granger continued to lean over the still shot, a single strand of Curley, light brown hair that had found its way out of her tight bun hanging loose. She ignored it. There was something familiar about this man. He was young, perhaps enough to have attended school with her. Her officer's preliminary report suggested possible Magic-user. That would certainly explain how he'd given them the slip so easily.

They were muggles, although competent ones. Even if it didn't seem like it most of the time. She mentally chastised herself for thinking like that.

Her gaze though never left the picture. She was sure she'd have remembered him if he'd gone to Beauxbatons… her eyes widened in recognition.

Moving towards the computerized workstation, her slender fingers blurred over the keyboard, accessing Europol's internal databanks with her personal user code and pulling up security footage files.

The person of interest in the Petit Palais Robbery.

It took her twenty minutes of watching footage from a certain camera but finally struck pay dirt. It was a ten-second window, but the man in question actually made it easy for her. He walked into its field of view, and proceeded to look right at the camera up above the mob of people, and smirked. Actually smirked.

She froze the shot and compared it to the image on her desk just to be sure.

Having near-perfect memory helped, but the action of this unknown visitor, shortly before the theft, raised an automatic flag that was easily recalled.

Her eyes narrowed, annoyed at the audacity of this thief. Hubris would be his downfall, and she would be the one to seal his fate. There was a reason she had achieved such a prestigious position at such a young age. She was meticulous, smart, and above all, driven.

A deep-seated hatred for thieves helped immensely, of course, focusing all that energy and wit and sheer intelligence into a crime-fighting package that made even her co-workers step back from the intensity.

Her superiors allowed her a great deal of operational freedom because she got results. The office had multiple Inspectors like herself, each with their own teams. In her six months working for Europol's property and priceless art theft division, she'd locked up no less than two dozen perpetrators, including Italian National Leonardo Notarbatelo and his gang, a mere two weeks after they'd done what was thought impossible and robbed the Antwerp Diamond Center in Brussels.

Of course, personal reasons would do that to you. And it didn't get much more personal than senselessly losing your younger sister to a botched robbery attempt while on vacation with your parents.

Thieves.

In her mind, they were every bit as despicable as murderers and rapists. And she would make sure every single one of them was locked up, magical or otherwise.

oOo

The Raven haired man appeared in a modern, if plainly furnished hotel room, a stone's throw from the Arc de Triomphe. The location made this particular room quite expensive, but the view more than made up for it. Or would have, were it not so foggy!

He shrugged off the bulky overcoat, revealing a sharply dressed and slim figure. He haphazardly kicked off his shoes and sighed in delight as the cool air soothed the stifling heat around his feet.

They were new and needed to be worn in, so it couldn't be helped. Walking over to the mini bar, he cracked open one of the atrociously expensive hard liquor bottles and poured the contents into a chilled glass.

With a freshly unbuttoned collar, he sank into one of the chairs, wand still in his holster and a pistol butt peeking out from underneath one arm.

He sipped on the drink, savoring the stillness and, oddly enough, the poor flavor of the amber liquid.

"Urgh, sacrebleu." He muttered with a grimace, preferring the French word over his normal English. There was just something wonderful about swearing-in that particular tongue. Of course with the amount of traveling he did, Harry was fluent in German as well, with a smattering of Portuguese and Spanish whenever work drew him that far west.

Ah, work. It was quite fulfilling, though sometimes the hours could be quite demanding. Lots of all-nighters, he thought with a smirk, taking another sip.

Of course, the pay was excellent. But he wasn't in it for the money, though it was nice. No, he wished to build himself a reputation. One on par with that of his mentor.

He pulled the key from his trouser pocket and inspected it. And this was going to help him achieve it.

oOo

She typed up a short summary of the progress in the case, though perhaps a better word was 'developments'. This wasn't her first run-in with this particular thief. He was confident, skilled, and had been active since at least '98.

Hermione looked at the clock and sighed. Ten past nine in the morning. She liked arriving early, mainly because she wasn't allowed to throw up silencing charms around her office to block out the unavoidable volume of noise a building such as Europol Paris headquarters generated.

The other reason she liked arriving early was to avoid _him_.

"Knock, knock." he said, poking his head inside her office door.

"McLaggen." She greeted wearily. Cormac McLaggen. The English transfer from Scotland Yard. He'd arrived only three weeks ago and through some stroke of bad luck, she'd somehow attracted his attention. Perhaps because she was the only Witch in the department.

Regardless, the man arrived every morning around this time, coffee in hand. She'd made the mistake of telling him how she preferred the drink early on before she'd realized his infatuation with her.

"Here you are." He deposited the cup on her desk and seated himself despite not having received an invitation to do so, just like every other day. He was, of course, a wizard, rather tall and well built, with tight, curly blonde hair and a reasonably handsome face.

"Merci" she took a sip one-handed, her other typing on the keyboard once more, now pulling the relevant information for her upcoming questioning of Jaque Rene. Before she'd even shed her coat this morning, an update detailing the successful apprehension of the man sat waiting on her otherwise spotless desk.

"I think I heard you all the way down in the break area this time," he quipped, referring to her little outburst at her own men last night. The Englishman rotated the picture of her main suspect around to look at. He seemed like nothing special.

"Yes, and you should be wary." She warned. "I may soon do the same to you if you keep this up. Congratulations by the way. I heard you've nabbed your man. Does this mean you'll be returning to England soon?" there may have been a smidgen of hope in her voice.

"Thank you." He smiled, quite happy to receive praise from one of the best and most beautiful Inspectors in all of Paris.

"As for my remaining here, I'm afraid I've taken a liking to…the scenery here." He said, managing to make eye contact at the end. "My transfer request to your division of Europol has been accepted as of today."

"Congratulations" she repeated, growing tired of the word and lamenting her rotten luck.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. "I was thinking, why don't we celebrate? I'd love to take you out for dinner some time."

"Cormac." She warned. "I'm sure you're aware of the regulations regarding departmental relationships."

"Yes of course. Fear not, Mademoiselle." She cringed slightly as he butchered the pronunciation. "I simply wish to take you out for a meal, nothing more."

She stared at him.

"I'll consider it."

McLaggen jumped up, all sense of composure lost. "Really?" he coughed. "I mean, that sounds wonderful. I'll sms you this afternoon."

"I said consider!" she nearly shouted, but McLaggen was already gone.

She groaned in annoyance. "Merde, what have I done?"

oOo

Jaque Rene was nervous, and rightfully so. Not because he was sitting in an interrogation room with his handcuffed to a bare metal table. Oh no, he'd been in, and out of this sort of situation plenty of times before. And if he could be proud of one thing, it was keeping his mouth shut.

He was a middleman after all. Whether it was information or items, if someone needed to pass a message discreetly and without garnering attention, he was your man. The 'was' it seemed, was now literal.

He would, in all likelihood, be unable to buy his way out of trouble with this one. But what concerned him was that his business associate was dead, as he'd just been told by the most frightening Woman to ever have the misfortune of meeting.

The worst part was that there were no signs of trauma on the body. That meant _them_. He really turned pale when it became apparent that Claude, the person whose picture was before him, had come to the police to provide information about the meeting between himself and the Crimson Hare.

Rene knew he didn't murder his (former) friend. But did they? The girl. She knew he was a squib. She also didn't seem surprised about the condition of Claude's body. Was she one of them?

"Mr. Rene, I'll cut to the chase." She said, her creamy smooth legs crossed at the knee as she sat opposite him. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but stare, though not for long of fear that she'd notice.

"It seems someone is trying to keep this meeting between this man-" she produced another image, this one of the male he'd given the train station key to. "-and yourself, quiet. Perhaps they already know you're here in this building being questioned. Perhaps not. It would be unfortunate if they came to the wrong conclusion after we release you, no?"

He swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat in the last few minutes.

"We can provide you with protection." She stopped. "Of course, if you can tell us what it is you gave to this man" she tapped the picture, "and what his next move is."

Yes, his career as a middle man was over. If word got out that he'd burned a client, no one in their right mind would use him. Jaque knew he was screwed. If the wand wavers wanted him dead, the Muggle Police would be inadequate to protect him. But the Aurors?

The middle-aged Frenchman leaned forward, trying to retain an ounce of control of his rapidly disintegrating life. 'Damn you to hell Claude! If you weren't already dead I'd have done the deed myself!'

"If you can guarantee my safety, I'll tell you everything."

Inspector Granger smiled viciously. "Of course, Mr. Rene."

oOo

"Team One in position." The radio crackled in the makeshift command center, which so happened to be the magically expanded cargo area of a Citroen H Van parked outside the train station. Inspector Granger held a certain fondness towards the ugly corrugated metal-clad vehicle. It was something none of the staff understood but also didn't question.

"Team two in position. No sign of the target."

The dozen or so television screens were directly tied into the station's CCTV system though a single cable leaving the front grille of the vehicle and snaking its way towards the building. The surveillance team had full temporary control, allowing them to pan, zoom, and record directly from the mobile, if somewhat cramped command center.

"Roger that" she responded, keeping the chatter to a minimum. The noon hour emergency meeting following Rene's questioning had mainly focused on the planning side for this operation, meaning orders relayed over the radio were unnecessary. Her team knew the drill. They were good; if perhaps a little green behind the ears. But all had good heads on their shoulders.

Their suspect would hopefully retrieve the contents of the storage locker today, and when he did, they were going to nab the guy!

Their mark proved to be a bit of a sadist though, only arriving sometime after seven in the evening and looking supremely unconcerned. She had to admit, observing him through the screen as he walked in through the main entrance, he certainly knew how to blend in. The two Gendarme at the kiosk didn't even give him a second glance as he walked by.

He seemed like any other evening commuter, with a stylish wool overcoat, dress pants, and polished shoes.

By the time he'd chosen to finally make an appearance, the crowds had lessened considerably, and the workday rush-hour mob had thinned enough for her agents to stick out more than she'd have liked. Undeterred, or perhaps unconcerned, their suspect moved in, locating the locker and opening it without much fanfare.

Before she could order her men to move in though, it all went to hell.

oOo

Before Harry even walked into the building, he was aware of the dinky little van sitting in the express parking stall out front. It looked ordinary enough, though the age certainly didn't help it blend in much. No, what caught his attention was what the mage sight he'd briefly flicked on had revealed.

The thing was covered in magic. At first glance, he concluded it had space expansion charms on it. While that in itself wasn't terribly uncommon, especially on cargo vehicles, the fact that they were layered with noise dampening and even more strangely, impervious charms on the metal made him take a second look.

A peek through the small, heavily tinted back window showed two women and a man. Two were sitting in front of multiple screens, all showing the station's interior.

'Ah, so they'd picked up Rene.' He smirked, instantly thinking of a good way to deal with any potential repercussions, at least from the occupants inside. There were bound to be more waiting for him in the Station. Making sure he wasn't being watched, Harry pulled his wand and cast a Parsel specific locking charm both on the back and side doors.

With a grin, he walked away from the vehicle, slightly anxious but also excited at the prospect of some interference. It was getting boring running circles around les autorités.

With a rough idea in his head, he moved inside and towards the West wing. A few people were moving about, but it wasn't crowded. It also made the six men 'casually' lounging around the locker he was here to loot stick out like sore thumbs.

Without further ado, he moved in. They didn't react until he'd already inserted the key into the lock.

The locker was empty save for a single folded piece of parchment. He frowned, slightly annoyed at how elaborate this game was becoming. Well, it's not like it happened every day. He could play along.

Or so he thought. Knowing he was surrounded, the young Wizard kept his attention split between his task of retrieving the next clue and scanning his surroundings.

That helped him avoid the bright green unforgivable that smashed into the back of the open locker, punching a ragged hole into the sheet metal.

Wide-eyed, he stepped aside almost on instinct, his hand moving to the concealed weapon on his side.

Merde, he hadn't expected that! Scanning his immediate surroundings, he identified the perpetrator easily enough.

Black robes, white mask. Yeah, he'd seen these guys before. In the newspaper that is. It looks like the fine policemen around him hadn't anticipated such a vile attack either, judging from their expressions. Four were going for their service revolvers. Two held wands.

None were aimed at him though.

The Death Eater, if that was actually what he was, didn't have a chance to follow up on the missed shot. The two Wizards in the apprehension team fired red stunners at him, forcing him to shield.

Harry saw the chance for what it was and ran amid the pop, pop, pop of gunfire and the snapping of spells hitting shields, marble, and flesh. It wasn't the way he'd envisioned this situation unfolding, but wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

oOo

The Back door of the Citroen blew off its hinges with the force of cannon. The backup team swiftly moved across the parking lot and into the Station, guns drawn, while Hermione Granger disapparated directly into the still unfolding scene the second her feet touched the pavement.

She was livid.

Two of her agents were down. She chose her destination with care, emerging behind le bâtard and swiftly finished the unexpected skirmish with a stunner to the neck.

She didn't have much time to spare and immediately sprinted in the direction their target had run off towards, shouting orders for the others to tend to the injured.

Damn it all! If he got away, she'd hex that masked fool into the next life!

oOo

Harry was reasonably sure he'd given his pursuers the slip. The sounds of what was no doubt a pitched battle ebbed as he made his way up the wide stairs and onto the exit concourse way spanning across the multiple rail lines below.

Halfway up, he tapped his coat, changing the color from black to dark green. A conjured hat and cane instantly made him appear twice his age, at least from afar. Matching the pace of the people around, he would bet a galleon that it was just as good, if not better than a notice me not.

Of course, old man Murphy must have read his mind, as not a second later his shoulder was tagged by an _Incarcerous_. The ropes wrapped around him like an amorous snake, fixing his arms painfully to his side. Thank the maker he'd retained his wand, just in case. Holding it awkwardly, a light cutter tore through the bindings and probably a good portion of his coat, but it allowed Harry to roll to the left, just as a red light splashed over the spot he'd just vacated.

"Arrêtez!" a female voice demanded. The few travelers around moved aside quickly, singling him out without difficulty. As if the old fashioned ropes he'd been struggling to shed weren't responsible for that already.

He could have, no should have just apparated away, but felt compelled to look at the fair creature who'd managed to track him despite the sudden chaos. She was to be commended after all.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, can I help you?" he lifted his hat, grinning madly. She was quite the beauty, with light brown hair and fair skin. Such a shame that expression was so angry looking at the moment.

"You will come with me," she stated, her wand pointing squarely at him.

He chuckled. "A tempting offer indeed, but I'm afraid I must decline."

Her response was an impressive and highly unusual array of spells meant to incapacitate but not harm, he noted. Most Harry was able to avoid, their effects bypassed by fluidly moving, twisting and dodging around. Unfortunately, the Persian silk constriction ribbons required a wand to deflect.

"Tut-tut" he waggled his index finger, wand still in the same hand. "Such spirit. You are as beautiful as you are skilled."

His mentor stressed quite often in the past that he needed to give pretty girls compliments, and Harry was happy to state that his efforts had born fruit many, many times over the years.

There was a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks but not much of a reaction. Perhaps he had imagined it? Alas, this time it was not meant to be. Perhaps that made her worth perusing further?

"Enough!" she shouted, renewing her attempts to subdue this infuriatingly mysterious and disturbingly competent wizard.

Partway through the third spell, a body bind, a fierce wind knocked her back. Said wind carried with it a deluge of rose pedals, thousands upon thousands of them.

Hermione was forced to shield her face with her arm before eventually throwing up a shield, fully expecting him to strike back. But then the gale force winds ebbed, and no attack had materialized. She found herself alone, ankle-deep in red.

A football-sized red crystal Hare stood atop a transfigured pillar where the stranger had been but a moment before.

"Bon Sang." She muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.


	2. Chapter 2

**It's Friday and that means update time! Thank you, everyone, for your enthusiastic responses to the prologue. Without further fanfare let's move into the next chapter. Enjoy.**

Harry reappeared in the hotel room riding an adrenaline high, the likes of which he hadn't felt since his first successful heist. He'd done some impressively stupid things in his relatively short life, but this easily took the cherry on the cake. Sure she was cute, but to reveal himself like that to a Police Woman, and a magical one at that, was bound to make his life much harder in the long run.

He briefly wondered which agency she worked for. Unfortunately, the thief didn't have much of a chance to reflect on his less than stellar life choices as his eyes locked onto a single, sealed envelope resting on the end of the Bed. One he did not recall being there when he'd left.

It looked as though it had been written with an old fashioned ink well and feather, the handwriting clearly addressed to him, his real name no less.

'Merveilleux', he thought, head tilting back to look at the ceiling, not meaning it in the slightest.

oOo

Inspector Granger stood in front of the crystal figurine, her wand moving in slow, circular motions as she cast every known diagnostic charm in her considerable repertoire on the not insignificant trinket. The man, whom she now assumed was the Crimson Hare, was long gone. She hadn't been good enough to keep him contained. The failure, her first, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Of course, up until today, there had been no reason to believe he was an Utilisateur Magie.

She shook her head. The excuse rang hollow.

Replaying the fight-, no it hadn't been a fight at all, had it? He'd played with her, dodging and deflecting her best non-lethal spells with ease, but never once returning the favor in kind. Almost like he didn't want to use magic.

Come to think of it, no traces of residual magic had ever been found around the locations he had targeted. It was one of the things she tested for, in case the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed to be involved.

Magicals working in muggle organizations were becoming more commonplace, and in the case of law enforcement, qualified individuals would often be asked by the ministry to look after DMLE interests on their behalf.

The frightening reality was that committing crimes against muggles was child's play for any witch or wizard, and the Ministry could not hope to stop every offense.

Having trained witches or wizards looking out for crimes suspected of being committed using the aide of magic was one tool in combatting this growing trend.

Quite often, it would also fill in holes where regular investigative techniques would falter. Things like sudden and unexplainable disappearance of suspects under surveillance, or large quantities of goods going missing from locked areas.

It was an extraordinarily progressive stance when it came to enforcing the secrecy laws.

Apart from her team and the commissioner, no one else was privy to that information, and the usual restraint was shown when dealing with muggles still applied. Those individuals that did know were under magical contract, and could not divulge what they knew.

Hermione's role at Europol was much the same, though mercifully not many Wizards or Witches chose to target muggle art installations or private collectors. At least until today. And while the Crimson Hare had not used Magic to commit the crime, he did escape capture through its use.

She genuinely wondered why he hadn't used magic. A great many of the items he had stolen would have been much easier to take with its use. Though his reasons were unknown, it told her he had notable skill, and nearly unlimited potential should he chose to use his gift in the future.

Inspector Granger narrowed her eyes. It would also make the victory of capturing him that much sweeter. Refocusing on the task at hand, she completed her initial diagnostic. As with the others, this example of the thief's calling card held no magical traces, save for the pedestal which he'd clearly transfigured using the marble floor as a base material.

The transfiguration, while not overly difficult, showed a hint of skill, the definition in the details clearly present.

The Rabbit though. It was not transfigured, yet nearly identical to the half dozen others sitting in evidence boxes in the storage facility at Europol's French Headquarters.

Someone had to be making these for him. They were exquisite pieces, extremely delicate, made from tinted lead glass. Chemical analysis had revealed nothing of the material's potential origin. It did not match any of the current manufacturers active today, in Europe or elsewhere.

Her cellular phone buzzed. It was McLaggen. The man was relentless. Putting the phone away, Hermione was about to head back to check on her men when the tip of her boot impacted something hidden under the thick carpet of pedals. With a gentle gust of wind from her wand, the object revealed itself.

It was a Matchbox. Picking it up, the word 'MINOS' could easily be read in classical Greek letters. The address was there as well, in a smaller, more legible font. She blew the remaining petals around to ensure she hadn't missed anything else.

When nothing came from the action, she returned to the scene of the first skirmish, radioing her officers in the van to have some regular Paris uniforms cordon off this newest crime scene. Hermione would have to leave the tedious work of cataloging and photographing evidence to her people in the coming days.

Flipping open her phone, the policewoman sent a rare message with the name and time of the restaurant to her annoying, if harmless stalker. She had an impromptu dinner reservation to keep.

oOo

The young thief allowed the letter to slip from his hand upon seating himself in the room's comfortable chair. So they'd found him. He frowned, an expression at odds with his usual easygoing attitude.

A faint set of dark lines on his forearm drew his attention. Bruises, no doubt from the ropes that had briefly bound him at the station.

Summoning another mini bottle from the nearby table he swiftly cracked the seal and tipped the contents into his waiting mouth, not even bothering with a glass this time.

This was getting complicated.

oOo

15 years ago;

The young boy stood close to the group of children similar in age to himself but made sure to stay in the back and out of sight of any eagle-eyed adults. The sky was a dull gray, and the faint roar of the nearby water crashing against the shore could easily be heard, mixed in with the excited words of those around him. He'd never been to the sea before. It smelt… salty?

His stomach growled loudly, churning painfully. Harry hoped the noise around him was loud enough to mask its protests. He couldn't risk looking for food right now.

It had been two days since he'd run from his Aunt and Uncle, taking his chance during a rare opportunity when he'd been told to weed the garden. In those two days, he'd traveled quite a bit, usually like this. Blending in, tagging along with families, always out of sight of the adults, with no clear destination.

Before long, he'd made it to the southern coast, sustaining himself with bags of crisps and chocolate bars stolen from corner stores. He'd never had either, and they were delicious.

The large group, which he learned was on a field trip, chattered animatedly at the prospect of crossing the channel. Inside, Harry felt much the same, though for wholly different reasons. In his mind, leaving England meant a better chance at not having to go back to the Dursleys.

And he couldn't go back. He just couldn't! It wasn't much of a plan, but Harry was determined to see it through. He didn't know much about the countries apart from that there were many, and that travel between them was relatively easy.

Small fingers brushed over the tender skin of his upper arm, where a large yellowish-green welt was hidden underneath his dirty clothes. He'd rather let the swirling dark waters below claim him than go back to that house.

Sure enough, no one bothered him as the large group boarded under the semi watchful eyes of their chaperones. It helped that one of the boys was being difficult, and therefore attracting the bulk of their attention.

Once aboard, he moved away, eager to find a hidden place for the duration of the trip. It was windy and cold, causing him to shiver involuntarily. The baggy shirt he wore did nothing to keep the chill away.

Hunkering down into a ball helped a little. It gave the wind less to pull at. The ferry ride was three hours. It felt much longer than that.

oOo

Harry didn't stick around his Hotel room after finishing the drink. If the English could find him here, then there was a good chance the less savory group after his head was able to do the same. After all, they'd somehow done so at the Train station. While checking out, the young man was already creating a mental compilation of the hotels he hadn't tried out yet, the top of the list reserved for, Ironically, La Réserve.

A minute later he was strolling down the Avenue Montaigne, the event bustle in full swing. Street performers vied for passer by's attention, and coins, while the aroma of food vendors enticed more than a few hungry souls. Perhaps he'd visit the Greek place near-. He groaned, stopping mid-step as he realized something else. His credit cards, used for the hotel deposit, were compromised. This meant the current alias he was using was pretty much done for.

Figuring he could stick to cash for the food and a single, harmless befuddlement charm on the Hotel concierge, he refocused his attention to the note left behind in the locker. Without breaking stride, he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, reading its contents at last. It contained two numbers, a date and a time.

48°38'09.9"N 1°30'41.0"W

Thursday, Sunset

Grumbling at the levels of paranoia this seller was displaying, he made a now necessary detour into a souvenir shop and honed in on the map carousel. Most were of the city, but there was also a National road atlas there that would hopefully supply him with what he needed.

The price bordered on the absurd, but he handed over the Francs without complaint. An hour later, Harry was sitting in a booth at Minos Greek Soulvaki Cuisine, with the map spread out over the blue and white table cloth. His lamb would be another twenty minutes, giving him plenty of time to place the coordinates he'd been supplied with.

The pencil tip hovered over the paper and was soon joined by a ruler. One vertical and one horizontal line later gave him his answer.

Mont Saint Michel. City of the Books.

An odd place to complete this particular transaction, though perhaps not. His prize was a book of sorts. He chuckled at the meeting place but quickly turned pensive once more, absently tapping the soft eraser back against his bottom lip in thought.

Clearly, multiple groups had known about his late-night meeting with Jacque Rene. It seemed unlikely they were after the same thing as he, meaning they were after Harry himself. The letter tucked away inside his coat all but confirmed his theory.

They could cause problems for him in the future. But then again, this sort of scenario was exactly what had been the reasoning behind this particular exercise. So unless Harry was foolish enough to allow himself to be followed, there was no way for any other interested parties to glean this latest location.

That left the question of how they'd picked up on his whereabouts. The timing between him reaching out through his father's contacts about the book and his subsequent loss of anonymity could not be ignored.

He sighed. Hopefully, they could make the switch at the Abbey. He was eager to begin work on his prize, and be rid of the quite frankly morbid painting he'd liberated from Petit Palais. Just carrying it on his person was unsettling.

The meal arrived a short time later, forcing him to tuck the documents away. He was looking forward to the trip. It had been a while since he'd used the car.

oOo

Never would she have thought that her hunch would pay off so quickly, the young woman thought to herself whilst sitting in a darkened booth at the back of the establishment. A single glass of wine rested on the table, and to any curious patrons, she looked like a student reading a book. Glamours were never her strong point, not having need of them, but it was a passable disguise that should stand up, if not overly scrutinized.

Cormac would be here shortly. She'd warned him not to draw attention to himself, and in so doing placed immense trust in him. But the benefits potentially outweighed the risk, partially because two people eating out together drew less suspicion from someone like a Master thief, such as the one she was watching over her reading glasses.

Not three tables away sat the man she now knew to be the Crimson Hare, pouring over a road map with nary a worry. How could he be so carefree and never have slipped up before? The man hadn't even changed his appearance since their encounter at the Station a scant few hours before. She'd been confident it wasn't his real one, but now Hermione wasn't so sure.

He wasn't facing her, making her next task all the easier. She wouldn't try to apprehend him again, at least not now and certainly not here. This was a golden opportunity to figure out his next move, to make sense of the madness.

Why had he met with Rene? Was it to set up a sale for the painting he'd taken? What had been in that locker? And why would he require a road map now? Her overabundant curiosity had often landed Hermione in trouble before until she'd found the perfect outlet for it with Europol.

She'd catch the Crimson Hare, in time.

For now, though, she was satisfied with being able to follow his movements. From under the table, she guided her wand, levitating a small tracker of her own design and floating it over towards him. It went unnoticed by the other diners and dropped noiselessly into one of the smaller pockets of his overcoat.

The tracker was charmed to burrow itself into the fabric, so unless he somehow lost the Jacket she'd know of his every move from now on.

The delicate task complete, Hermione pulled a hardcover art book from her bag and began sketching his profile from the angle she was limited to.

Cormac found her soon after and quietly seated himself, but not before giving her a chaste peck on the cheek. She let it slide as to not make a scene. The Brit was smart, she'd give him that. Pulling that move at any other time would have resulted in a slap and a sore cheek at the very least.

"While this was not quite what I had in mind, I'm still pleased with the outcome, even if you are paying more attention to another man at the moment." He greeted, seating himself as though he'd done so many times before.

She took a larger than usual sip of her glass and shot him a look that promised pain. McLaggen got a look at the guy, who'd even nodded politely as he passed. He seemed like your regular everyday bloke, though most would at least use a comb every once in a while.

"With my case over and done with, I was thinking; would you be open to the idea of me working with you? I mean, this stakeout excluded."

Hermione put down the pencil, pretty much finished at that point and simply using it as an excuse to avoid exactly this sort of conversation. She only allowed it because the background noise in the dining area was sufficient as to not blow her cover.

"Look Cormac, you're very sweet." She pursed her lips. "But as I said earlier. This can't work. I'm happy for you that you're getting out of England-." She was no doubt referring to the worsening situation there. "But please, don't do it on my behalf."

The rejection took the wind from his sails, and also made her feel awful for having to be the one to do it. In a rare moment of weakness, she offered up an olive branch.

"I'll allow you on the team if you can pull your weight. Having another wand would be beneficial, and it would give you some good experience should you wish to continue on at…the organization." She was careful not to say 'Europol' within earshot of the very man they were hunting, noisy restaurant or not.

The offer mollified him somewhat. "I appreciate the opportunity." Then one side of his mouth moved up as a thought hit him. "I suppose barging into your office is out of the question now, isn't it."

For the first time that night, Hermione felt amused. "Not unless you wish to sort through and label mountains of evidence for your first month."

"Duly noted."

The Hare's food arrived a scant five minutes after, by which time she'd fully shaded in the sketch. It would join the single picture in her file. If he was foolish enough to keep using this face, then he'd attract the attention of every law enforcement official in Europe before long.

oOo

After a scrumptious meal, Harry made his way back to the hotel by normal means. The walk aided digestion, and also helped him plan the steps to come.

The letter he'd found in the Hotel room was weighing heavily on his mind. Both his adoptive father and he were quite aware of Harry James Potter's fame. As such, steps had been taken to shield the then young boy from any who would wish him harm.

Owls could not trace his location, even to this day. And yet, this letter had found him. As for its sender? Well, he couldn't think of a good reason why one of the most well-known men in Wizarding society would want to reach out to him. One thing was for sure, Albus Dumbledore knew far more than he had any right to.

And he was using that information as leverage to request a meeting. A meeting he could ill afford to ignore, he thought, stepping around a street performer. A few loose coins found their way into the open instrument case, earning him a mumble of gratitude.

Then there was the attempt on his life by the man in the mask. Was he just an imitator, or the genuine article? Considering the Chief Warlock of Magical Britain's Wizengamot knew his identity, he had no doubts that members within the Dark Lord's ranks would have access to that same information. It was no secret that they had infiltrated the legislative body of the island nation long ago.

The cat then was out of the bag, it seemed.

In hindsight, his impromptu plan to reveal himself to les autorites was ill-timed with these new players vying for his attention.

Then, of course, there was the reason for his being in Paris in the first place.

The grotesque-looking painting in his pocket would be his payment for a one of a kind item. Yes, it was a book. More specifically, it was the Manuscript of the last Lady Sly. It was mentioned by another author who'd penned a very insightful guide on Parcel magic, and was long thought to be lost.

Using his adoptive father's contacts, he was able to determine the last known owner of the book, a nobleman by the name of Dorian Gray. The then young Gray purchased it, along with the rest of Lady Sly's extensive library upon her passing in 1822.

Then, before Harry could contact any potential relatives, a stranger penned him a note stating the Manuscript he was looking for was in his possession. The letter had found its way to him from the same contact whom he'd made the initial inquiry to.

The cost of course, as mentioned previously, was the Painting he'd stolen from Petit Palais, in addition to any expenses deemed necessary by the seller to protect his identity.

That had been the payment to Rene, whom he likely wouldn't be using again in the future.

He briefly considered the possibility that this mysterious seller was responsible for his newfound notoriety with the British Magicals, but couldn't think of a logical reason for him or her to do so. Not with the art piece already in his possession.

Regardless of how they had found out, he must now proceed with the utmost caution. The game had become several orders of magnitude riskier. He could no longer afford to ignore the most useful tool at his disposal.

It was getting late, but he knew the Magical district of Paris was always open for Business. Perhaps it was time to purchase a backup wand and some spell resistant garments. After all, one could never be too prepared.

oOo

The street musician eyed the haul in the guitar case that had managed to accumulate in the last fifteen minutes and wondered if she hadn't gotten into the wrong career. After placing the letter Dumbledore had given her, she'd followed Potter out of the hotel.

He had wisely abandoned the room, but Tonks (don't call me Nymphadora) had been an Auror for nigh a decade now, and easily managed to keep an eye on him from afar. He checked into another Hotel after a fun fifteen-minute tracking exercise that would have left even her strictest instructors impressed. Not long after entering the opulent establishment, he re-emerged, heading down the busy street.

Posing as a middle-aged man wasn't the most pleasant disguise, but it served her quite well, as did her observations while inside Minos.

One, the kid knew his food. The meal was superb. But it looks like she also had competition, in the form of a young, pretty brunette sitting alone in one of the dark booths. She'd even brought another person along, probably to avoid drawing attention.

The girl wasn't half bad, but Tonks could tell she wore a glamour and managed to get a good look at her through a pair of Moody modified Omnioculars while in the restroom.

Bloody useful things. Of course, she spent far too much time ogling men on the 'sans clothing' setting with the things, and this time was no exception. She was surprised that little Harry was packing a muggle Pistol, and a quite uncommon one at that, from what she was able to deduce at this distance.

Her father was a bit of a military buff and had books on the subject. She may not have been an avid studier, but the detailed pictures made distinguishing this particular one easy. It was an old C96, often referred to as the Broom handle Mauser.

She didn't spot any reloads on his person, so they were either kept them in one of those expanded pockets he favored, or the more likely reason was that the thing was modified magically.

My, my, what a naughty boy. Tonks was beginning to like this assignment more and more. Of course, she'd jumped at the chance to go to Paris. But the kid was proving to be much more interesting than she'd initially thought.

Assuming correctly that he was going to head back to the hotel room, she took her leave as he finished his meal and apparated down the street. A few minutes later Tonks was playing 'Leaving on a Jet Plane', using her ability to change vocal cords to sucker a few more quid out of the passing crowds.

After he passed, she guided her transfigured ladybug onto his coat, where it found a secure spot underneath his collar and changed back.

She didn't like copying the girl in the Restaurant but had to admit, the move had been executed perfectly. Unfortunately, she couldn't risk the same maneuver while she was still watching, hence the disguise.

As an afterthought, she tagged the Brunette and her date with another bug as they rushed by. Packing up, Tonks continued to whistle the song as they slowly made their way towards the entrance to Paris's magical shopping district, discreetly keeping her distance.

oOo

It had been some time since he'd visited the alley and decided to make the most of it. Figuring he may need to visit a few more magically exclusive enclaves in the near future, Harry purchased some standard robes, terrible as though they would be to wear. The middle-aged witch taking his measurements had been far too liberal with her hands during the fitting if he was being honest.

Tomorrow morning he'd visit his mentor, and hopefully sweet talk the man into letting him borrow one of his cars. They were exquisite if a little too old for his liking. But he did not mind the occasional trip in one.

oOo

Thirteen Years Ago.

The many hundreds of bodies moved in tandem, jostled around by the twists and turns of the Subway car they were riding in. A boy, no older than eight, wearing an old fashioned flat cap, positioned himself for the big one he knew was coming up between Alma Marceau and Iéna metro stations.

The number nine-line was in dire need of refurbishment, and the cars moved laterally a lot more than on many of the older lines. It meant that during rush hour, the scores of people crammed into the cars we're practically guaranteed to crush each other.

The silver cars jolted with a loud screech, and the almost overlooked boy was pushed face-first into the heavy coat of a man two heads taller than him.

With a feather-light touch, the hand darted into the big, unsecured pocket. At the next stop, he exited, making his way up to the surface, eyes instantly drawn to the massive metal tower just across the river.

The now empty wallet was left one of the payphones lining the stone wall. With any luck, its owner would be reunited with it soon, and not have to needlessly spend any more Francs replacing identification cards.

Harry felt a lot of bills in his pocket but wasn't stupid enough to look at their denominations until completely sure that he was alone.

Moving at the same pace as the dozens of Parisians rushing to work, he pulled another two similar moves on people who either looked like their coats were expensive or, in one case a very snobby sounding woman, who was berating her assistant.

His French was still not so good, but he could get by easily enough. The old man who was renting him the room for one hundred twenty-five francs a month certainly had no issue understanding him. Not when Harry had paid in cash and early every time.

After buying some pastries from a well-frequented bakery, he managed to relieve some tourists of what he hoped was most of their spending allowance. The deed done, he sat down on one of the many, many benches in the Champ de Mars.

It had been a good morning, he concluded, idly pulling a bag of birdseed from his pocket and throwing some on the ground. The pigeons were on the ball, just like he was, he thought with amusement.

"Pardon, but is this seat taken?" The boy hadn't noticed the man approach but shook his head regardless.

"I see we share a hobby, my young friend." The man's gloved hand went into his pocket, and for a moment Harry worried he may be a policeman pulling out a set of handcuffs.

The seeds scattered in front of them and the boy relaxed.

"No one should have to go hungry", Harry said, watching them peck up the easy meal.

"Wise words indeed. But did you ever consider that those you take that money from may end up just that?"

Damn it, he was a _policier_ after all!

Looking for a good exit route that would make his speed handicap less disastrous, he prepared to run.

"Fear not, I am not here to arrest you. In fact, one could say that I to, support myself as you do, though perhaps not on such a small scale."

Harry's head whipped around. "You're a thief? Like the ones in the newspaper?" Harry was, of course, referring to the stolen Van Gogh paintings from Holland a few short weeks ago. The heist was well covered throughout Europe.

"Something like that." The man chuckled. "But you know, those institutions, they have insurance. So the thief, while robbing the public of some very fine art, did not, in fact, hurt anyone other than a large, very rich business that makes most of its money from everyday people who will likely never require those particular services."

He was referring to insurance companies.

That made sense, in a roundabout way.

"So ask yourself, who is really the thief here?"

He bobbed his head up and down, understanding.

"Do you come here often?" Harry asked, throwing another handful of seeds when the stares of a hundred hungry eyes became too much to bear.

"Every Wednesday and Sunday when the clock strikes twelve." On cue the large bells of Notre-Dame Cathedral could be heard in the distance, the crisp, clear tones reaching out some two kilometers to find their ears.

Harry had never had a friend before, other than perhaps the Pigeons.

"I'll find you then, this Sunday." He stated.

The days came and went, and throughout it all Harry began looking forward to the semi-weekly visits with the thief. He also took the man's words to heart, although in a slightly different way than intended. Harry began tailing men, and women coming from Insurance offices. He found they carried a good deal more money than his usual targets, but the pulls were trickier.

That meant more people overall retained their hard-earned francs. The man, whom he learned was named Gaspar, had laughed when he mentioned his altered routine. He also taught Harry how to play chess in the gardens, when the weather was good. Weeks turned into months, and one sunny fall day Gaspar found Harry on the same bench they always met at.

"Hello, Harry." He greeted, to which the boy smiled brilliantly. "Gaspar! You're late. It's not like you at all."

The man took off his hat and placed it on the corner of the bench, chuckling.

"Sit down, my boy. I fear I have some news."

The smile faltered, replaced by unease. He sighed, staring ahead. "I fear that my time in Paris is at an end. This will be the last time I shall visit this wonderful park for some time."

"Oh," the boy said, looking sad.

"Which is why I have a proposition for you." The graying man gazed down at Harry, trying to look reassuring.

"Why don't you come live with me? You wouldn't have to work these streets to make end's meat and could go to school. Perhaps even make some friends."

Harry's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "You'd really do that? Let me live with you?" He sounded excited, which Gaspar took as a good sign.

"Of course. The house I live in is plenty big enough, far too large for one person in fact. It's in the south, where the winters don't bite so much."

The hug was fierce and unexpected but welcomed. Harry sobbed into the wool coat, elated that someone would want him, a mere street urchin.

And so, at long last, Harry attained what he desired more than all the money in the world.

A Family.

oOo

Harry found himself walking along the stone path around the side of a Mansion of a house. Incidentally, it was also his childhood home. If he knew his father, which he did, then knocking on the front door at this time was an effort in futility.

He would no doubt be on the front porch, enjoying the newspaper, a good cup of coffee, and the view. Harry had forgone the heavy coat, leaving it and his other clothes save for a small duffel at the hotel. Theoule Sur Mer was, if you asked him, paradise on Earth. Rainy old England certainly couldn't hold a candle to this place.

It was a testament to both the area and his relationship with his adoptive father that Harry himself had decided to settle only a few hundred kilometers north, in neighboring Switzerland.

He visited often, cherishing every moment with the man who'd no doubt saved him from a life of petty crime. His usual frames were absent, replaced by some very American Aviators. They went well with his hair if his previous lover's words were to be believed.

The long sleeve dress shirt he wore had its collar popped open and sleeves rolled up, revealing a sleek wristwatch. The holster hung in its usual place, hidden from view by a notice me not.

"Bonjour, father" he greeted, a smile growing on his face. The graying man lowered his paper but did not rise.

"Ahh Harry, it's wonderful to see you. You look well."

The younger man leaned down and gave him a quick hug, before seating himself next to him. The view from the veranda was just like he remembered it, and to be honest, he would never tire of it. The water practically sparkled in the distance, a sea of diamonds and light, constantly in flux. Early morning was always a magical time to gaze at the Mediterranean sea.

They chatted about nothing of consequence for a few minutes, but Harry could tell his mentor was waiting for him to confess something.

"It seems my efforts to make a name for myself have borne fruit, though in an unexpected way." Was his admission.

"You're referring to the young Police Woman, no?" he chuckled with amusement. "My dear boy, I always knew you to be reckless when it came to the fairer sex, but this one may be a bit more than you can handle."

Harry couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as if to say; 'really?' It was true that the man he was sitting across was good at gathering information, but the incident had only just happened yesterday evening. He was truly a master of his craft, and the network he'd built would make every intelligence agency in the world either green with envy or pale in fear. Perhaps even both.

"She handled herself quite well during our encounter," Harry admitted, helping himself to some fruit the servant had prepared earlier. "I was pleasantly surprised with her Wand work, and that she was able to locate me so quickly, despite my efforts." Harry didn't say best effort. He honestly didn't think he'd be forced to employ such drastic measures, considering the chaos that had ensued.

The girl had excellent instincts.

"Her name is Hermione Jean Granger. A lovely name for a lovely girl." He supplied, along with a manila folder.

Harry accepted it with thanks and began with her Europol file. "Quite impressive" he murmured, answering at least one question from yesterday. So she was with Europol, the EU's official law enforcement cooperation agency. A lot of talented people worked for that organization, and she was no exception.

"Oui." The older man agreed. "She will be quite a hand full, but I fear also the most predictable of the entities perusing you."

Now it was Harry's turn to agree. Pulling the letter he'd found from his breast pocket, he handed it to his father.

"I found _this_ right after the incident at the train station."

The older man read quietly and must have re-read it judging by the time it took for him to restart the conversation.

"Hmm, most troubling."

Harry nodded in affirmation. "I've been unable to surmise as to how he located me. There are multiple trackers on my coat that have been added as recently as last night, but nothing prior. To be honest, I'm stumped." He didn't mention that he suspected his father's contact. To do so would be an insult to the man.

Again the older man chuckled. "I may have an answer to your question." With a small amount of effort, he extracted himself from the chair and headed inside.

Harry made to follow, but Gaspar insisted he stay and enjoy breakfast. A few minutes and several Croissants later, a folded paper hit the table next to his plate. The picture nearly caused him to choke.

"Merde, I'm such a fool!" he groaned, massaging his brow with two fingers.

This time the old man flat out laughed. "My boy, you must have been quite distracted in order to walk in front of a reporter's camera without realizing."

Harry grunted, popping the remnant of the buttery pastry into his mouth and leaning back, studying the picture more closely.

It was a news article about the Museum, and he just so happened to be in the shot.

"So, the English know I'm alive and in France. And Europol has a picture of me and a list of items I've stolen several feet long."

"So it would seem." The man agreed, though there was no humor there now. "I do not know how you plan to deal with this situation my son, but I do hope you'll be careful."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Yesterday was an anomaly. I do not intend to get struck down by some English terrorist group."

"Good", the man nodded, pleased with the answer. He went back to his paper while Harry decided which way to attempt broaching the most important question of them all.

"So, how's the A110 been running lately?"

The man lowered the paper again and gave his son a knowing look over the rim of the reading spectacles.

The Renauld Alpine rumbled satisfyingly as he popped the clutch and hit the gas. Its blue paint glistened in the high noon sun of Southern France. It was going to be a long trip to the Northern coast, but he was going to have a lot of fun getting there.

oOo

The Rat had failed him. So had the assassin. Fortunately, his minion's incompetence was a quantifiable thing, and he'd taken the necessary precautions to safeguard against the possibility. The note in the locker had been copied the same night Voldemort learned of its existence. It no longer mattered where Harry Potter was, for he knew where he was going to be.

Pressing his wand tip into the flesh of his messenger's forearm, he summoned his best. Their loyalty would be rewarded; with a field trip to the mainland.

oOo

Inspector Granger was in a foul mood, and the source of it was sitting in her office. The night before, she'd called in her surveillance team for two reasons. One was to go over the botched operation at the Train station. Like it or not, she had to report to her Commissaire about the failure and more importantly, the fact that two of her men were in the curse ward of Saint Joseph.

The other, and by far more important one, was to have the team monitor Crimson Hare and report to her when if and when he moves again. She expected the latter to take up a large part of her time in the very near future and needed to get ahead of the huge pile of bureaucratic manure that had accumulated in the scant few hours she'd allowed herself some sleep. This needed to be dealt with if she wanted the next few days to unfold smoothly.

The pompous arse claiming to be the non-magical liaison to the French Ministry was waiting in her office. To be perfectly honest, he probably didn't even know the meaning of the word liaison. The man was a sexist pig and she'd had the misfortune of dealing with him in the past. Even better was that he'd brought a friend, this one an Auror. She'd withhold judgment against him until after deeming the meeting over. And the sooner that happened, the better.

The Death Eater was currently being held by Europol, and it would take a transfer document from the Commissaire himself for her to release the perp into their custody. That was not something she could change, nor did she have any inclination to.

Breathing in deeply, she paused in front of the frosted glass door and steeled herself for the unpleasant conversation about to commence.

"Monsieur Bisset, thank you for waiting." She greeted, stepping into the room. The two men stood and she shook their hands. Contrary to popular belief not all men kissed the back of a woman's hand. Thank God for small mercies.

"Of course Inspector Granger, I'm sure you had a very good reason." His voice dripping with faux sincerity. At least he'd called her by her title this time. It seems her connections with the Delacour family had curbed his attitude towards the young Police official somewhat.

She'd never meant to abuse her relationship with the family in such fashion. Hermione had simply vented some of her frustration to her old school friend Fleur in a letter at the time.

'He wouldn't see it that way', she thought as he introduced the Auror to her by name. After that, it was all business.

"Miss Granger, I'm sure you're aware of why we are here." Rafael began. She smiled in return. "Of course. After all, I was the one who filed the request for information to your Auror department to forward to the British."

"Right." He answered, wondering why she was playing along. Had she already questioned the suspect?

"Then you must know that we have jurisdiction over this man. He committed a class A offense on French soil. You have no jurisdiction over him."

"You are technically correct. However unfortunately for you, I am unable to release him without express written approval from my superior. In order to speed things along, I have already contacted him. You should have your man within the hour."

Hermione made to leave but didn't make it past her desk. "You haven't questioned this man, have you?" the Ministry official asked wearily.

"Non, but I will be doing so right now. You're more than welcome to observe."

"I must protest, Inspector Granger", he stressed, sounding a good deal more nervous. It was obvious enough that his Auror friend noticed his unease also. "Europol is not cleared to perform questioning of someone as dangerous as this. He could assault your mind with nothing but eye contact!"

"Not to fear Monsieur, I am well trained in the mind arts. You will have your man soon. Until then, I can and will do with him as I wish."

She stepped around the agitated man and walked out the door, headed for the holding cells.

"Please Madame", the short and quite frankly plump man had to jog to catch up to her. "I must insist you cease-"

"Insist all you want" she snapped, finally losing her patience. It was clear he was in someone's pocket. The Death eater must know things. Things best-kept secret. She agreed and had no interest in exposing someone's dirty laundry at the expense of her own safety.

All she cared for was identifying the real name of the Crimson Hare, and why he was targeted. Did he steal from the English Dark Lord's followers at some point? Were they here to exact retribution?

She wished he would cease his insufferable prattle, wished she didn't need to include him for the upcoming conversation. But if he really was dirty, then the Death Eater's friends would not hesitate to kill her should they suspect she knew more than she should.

Bisset was only here as a witness, nothing more and nothing less.

Limiting her questions to the case should keep her out of the crosshairs. Despicable though he may be, she doubted he'd lie to have her silenced. The Auror, if he wasn't dirty as well, was further insurance against such drastic action.

The door beeped loudly when the keycard tapped the pad. The two wizards made to follow, but she quickly shut the door behind her, effectively forcing them to watch through the adjacent observation booth.

Inspector Granger wasted no time wrapping the man in ropes, securely tying him to the chair.

"Comfortable?" she asked, not really caring for the answer either way. Her Occlumency shields were up, just in case he tried anything stupid.

The man stared at her, features devoid of expression.

"You attacked a man at Gare Du Nora train station last night. A man that's of great interest to us. What do you know of him?"

She received no answer.

"Why did you target him?"

More silence.

She sighed. It was always easier if she had some background information for this part. Very well.

She approached him, making sure her wand was securely tucked in its holster. Grabbing a fist full of dirty blonde hair, she mashed his head into the stainless steel table with a bang.

"Arrghh!" the Nameless Death Eater roared. In the observation booth, the Auror and Ministry Official shared surprised looks.

"Oh good, you can talk. I was beginning to worry you might be a mute."

She waved her wand in front of his face, and his clearly broken bone snapped back into place with a sickening crack and loud grunt.

"Fuck you, Bitch!"

She slapped him hard with the back of her hand. "Mind your manners, English pig." She stated calmly. Her gaze founds its way to the distinct tattoo above his handcuffed right wrist.

"The serpent mark. I've heard that it kills its owner if he or she tries to dispel it. Shall we see if that little rumor is true?"

Her wand tip pressed into the flesh of his forearm, and the ink of the tattoo darkened. To the owner, it felt like liquid fire was working its way up along his arm. He gasped in shock and surprise, so she eased up for a moment to let him reconsider his options.

"Let's try this again." she purred. "Tell me, who was the man you attacked at Gare Du Nord?"

He grit his teeth, so she continued pouring magic into his master's mark.

"All right, all right!" he screamed when the searing fire reached his chest.

"Harry Potter!" he gasped, fearing the mark was close to ending his life. "I was sent to kill Harry Potter."

She eased up, both pleased that her methods had yielded results but also quite surprised at the name he provided.

Well, if this was true then she certainly didn't need to ask him why he'd done it. It was well known that the Dark Lord had been hunting for the last Potter since his rumored resurrection some years ago.

She withdrew her wand from his arm and vanished the ropes. One name explained so much. She glanced at the mirrored window and swiftly exited the room, leaving the Death Eater panting hard from the ordeal.

"Granger!" the official all but shouted. "How dare you torture a prisoner! You'll be sent to jail for this!"

"Save your lectures, Bisset. Besides, apart from one tiny slip of my hand, I used no spells on him. Observe."

The lit tip of her wand poked his arm as it had with the Death Eater before. He flinched at first but felt only a warm, slight pressure from the wood itself.

"What did you do to him?" he asked, puzzlement momentarily winning over outrage.

She shrugged. "I simply poured a little bit of magic into his mark. Nothing more. For anyone such as yourself or Auror Carron here, it would not feel unpleasant." she shrugged. "How was I to know it would pain him so?"

Carron remained silent. It was true, besides the physical roughness, she hadn't used any direct magic on him. It worried him that she would know the workings of such dark and evil magic enough to manipulate it, but he had little grounds to make an arrest. A stern warning perhaps, but the law was quite vague on how to reprimand someone like her, a Witch, working in Muggle Law enforcement.

They usually didn't break any magical laws.

Besides, it would cause all kinds of headaches for him and his superior should he bring her in. Instead, Carron asked a question of his own.

"You only needed the one answer from this man. Surely he would have told you more."

She shrugged. "Perhaps, but my job is to capture thieves. Nothing more, and nothing less."

The answer mollified the official, who finally understood what she'd done.

"You play a dangerous game, Mademoiselle." He warned, covering up his relief with what would hopefully sound like concern for this brash and reckless young lady.

"I do my job. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work. I will have my assistant contact you once the paperwork is in place. Good day to you both."

Back in her office, she pulled up any and all files pertaining to one Harry James Potter. There was scarcely anything there. No birth records, school information, immunizations. A single hospital visit in March of 1994 for a broken arm, logged with the British National Health Service database. She opened the file. His guardians claimed he fell down the stairs.

Of course, she knew more than what was in the official reports. The boy who lived is what they called him. The title had been silly then, and it didn't even apply now that he was a full-grown man. A full-grown man who liked to steal things.

What happened to this boy in order to make him such a competent criminal? Hermione hoped to find out.

The book she'd read about him back when Hermione had first been contacted for enrolment into Hogwarts was no doubt erroneous. She recalled there was some confusion by the staff as to his absence during the sorting on her first day at the school.

Did that mean his relatives hadn't reported him missing?

Unfortunately, while interesting, this new information gave her little to work on. She'd follow up with his former guardians and see how he came to favor France over his native Britain, though she would venture a guess and say the fanatics like the one in the holding cell had much to do with that decision.

There were older files here for his mother, but nothing on the father. A pureblood then, meaning his records would be kept by the British Ministry, who hadn't digitalized anything yet and weren't likely to in the near, or far future.

With a sigh, she began compiling information to add to his file. A file that was growing larger, yes, but that didn't bring her closer to putting the man behind bars.

oOo

Tonks frowned as she moved the Omnioculars around the room Harry had checked into last night. It was empty save for a few shopping bags and the coat she'd placed the tracker on. Checking her watch, it was now early afternoon. He'd already been gone when she woke, and for a few hours, Tonks hadn't been worried, expecting him to be out for breakfast.

Now though she wasn't so sure. A quick check confirmed the tracker was still linked to its counterpart in her hand. Where had he gone? Deciding she could only do so much from across the hall, the Metamorph shifted into the form of a petite blonde with long, straight hair.

She pulled the golden locks back into a messy bun and donned her Chameleon Cloak, letting it morph into a traditional, yet conservative French maid outfit whose skirt was perhaps a bit shorter than hotel regulation dictated.

Transfiguring a believable copy of a cleaning cart from her old discarded towels, she slipped out of the Hotel Room and down the hall a few meters, softly knocking on the door.

She knew no one was there, but kept up the charade anyway. Unlocking the door with her wand, she pushed the cart through and closed the door.

After rifling through the bags, she placed another tracker on the robes. He'd clearly bought them for a reason. Tonks was rubbish at cleaning charms and didn't even attempt to make the bed. She'd just picked up a pair of underwear and determined them to be boxers when a male voice nearly caused her to scream in surprise.

"My apologies about the mess." He said, arms folded and leaning against the bathroom doorframe with a roguish grin.

She actually blushed at being caught red-handed but dearly hoped he wouldn't suspect her being in his room.

"Je suis tellement désolé" she sputtered in French, one of the few phrases she knew without butchering the language. "I waz unaware you were here. I-I can return later." She switched to what she hoped was an accented version of English, dropping the garment and grabbing the cart with a gloved hand.

He gestured her to stop, causing her breath to hitch.

"Please, I was only grabbing my coat. Do not let my brief intrusion distract you." He stepped past her, one hand gently placed around her midriff as she moved aside. Coat in hand, he repeated the move but paused as his face was mere inches from hers.

"Please leave a few extra chocolates on the bed." She could feel his warm breath on her slightly parted lips. "I very much enjoy them."

He gave her a wink and departed, leaving her frozen in place. A good ten seconds later she relaxed, sighing as the tension left her.

"Bugger me, this one was trouble." She muttered, replaying the odd interaction in her head.

With haste, she vanished the cart and checked on the tracker, only to frown when it was still here. Moving into her hotel room she repeated the process and saw it moved with her.

For a moment Tonks erroneously believed he'd snuck into her room without her noticing. Then realization dawned.

"Bloody Hell, you really bunged it up this time." She moaned, checking her pockets. Sure enough, he'd slipped the tracker in there.

"Cheeky Bugger." She growled.

oOo

Harry's already good mood from seeing his father earlier that morning improved even further following the unexpected but thoroughly enjoyable teasing of the fake maid in his Hotel Room.

The continuous intrusions of his privacy aside, he was immensely enjoying the game, random Death Eaters notwithstanding.

Let's see if she was good enough to find him again, he thought, patting the folded jacket as he stepped into the elevator. A second later, he was gone.

oOo

"Inspector!" McLaggen barged into her office without knocking, something she allowed and even encouraged when dealing with time-sensitive information. "The target is on the move."

She grabbed her coat and made for the door. In the hallway, he matched her pace and continued briefing her, not needing to be prompted.

"Looks like he apparated from his Hotel Room in Paris to a rest area on the A81 between Laval and LeMons."

"A rest area?" she muttered, not understanding why he would choose to go there. By the time they arrived in the headquarters' operations room, the information had changed yet again.

"Target is on the move again, traveling West at automobile speeds." a female officer stated.

"He's driving?" Granger asked, instantly frustrated with herself at the silly questions. "Right, pull up any camera footage of the location and rewind." She ordered. "We need to know what vehicle he is traveling in in case the tracker fails."

Less than a minute later she got her answer. "Inspector, I have a positive ID. The subject arrived in a blue coupe and walked into the restroom. Several minutes later he re-emerged wearing a dark coat and re-entered the same vehicle.

Another few seconds of tweaking and the image sharpened, revealing the make of the blue car. She snorted in amusement. A Renault A110 Alpine. Despite her best efforts, she was beginning to like this guy. His taste in cars was quite good.

"Get me the Police Commissaire of Laval on the line." She muttered, observing as Harry Potter, aka the Crimson Hare, seated himself in the classic French car.

 **A few you have stated that the POV changes too quickly. Unfortunately, this chapter was no different. This back and forth will slow down significantly after the next chapter. As always please feel free to leave a review. I appreciate the suggestions and love hearing what parts of the story resonate with the reader.**


	3. Chapter 3

The portkey regally deposited her in the Commissaire's office, where the man himself waited for her.

"Inspector Granger, always a pleasure" the graying man greeted her with a gentle handshake. She gave him a polite nod. It seemed the grooming sessions with her own superior during the semiannual police banquets were bearing fruit.

She was well-liked amongst the predominantly male higher-ups that ran France's National Police. Commissaire's were like police chiefs, each with territory under their jurisdiction. Paris had several of them, including Clouseau, who also happened to run the French Europol office.

Laval was small enough where one sufficed. Fortunately, he was a good friend of her superior, and the request had been processed very quickly.

"Likewise, sir." She greeted back. "You have my thanks for organizing transport on such short notice. I promise you will see it returned without a scratch."

The mustached man laughed. "Nonsense my dear. Feel free to push it to the limit. My budget does not allow for many replacements, but with Europol involved I'm almost hoping you don't bring it back. Just make sure you stay safe."

She gave him a small smile as they moved through the precinct and into the parkade. A sleek, black German Saloon waited for her, already idling.

"We have a patrol car waiting to escort you to the city limits. That should save you a few minutes of tedious city traffic.

"A thousand thank you's, Commissaire." She replied while bucking up, the window rolled down.

"And good luck to you." He responded. "Now off you go!"

And she did, leaving a few meters of rubber on the painted concrete of the parkade.

The man chuckled.

"Such spirit. Ah, to be young again."

oOo

Tonks was racking her brain trying to figure out where her assignment had run off to. She'd scoured Paris's magical district once more without any sign of him, and conceded that she may have lost the trail. Sitting down on a park bench, she checked on the whereabouts of the other interested party. Strangely, she wasn't in Paris, but just outside of Laval, and moving quickly to boot.

Was she perusing Harry? Something told her she was. Muttering various English obscenities, she pulled out her charmed mirror to provide an update to the Order.

That out of the way, Tonks hopped on her clean sweep ten and rocketed into the late afternoon Paris skyline, before heading north.

oOo

Aided by the constant updates from her team streaming in through the earpiece, she guided the vehicle through the confusing Normandy countryside. It took twenty minutes, but she was now discreetly tailing the Renault as it headed northwest, towards the coast.

The wider, better developed high-speed corridors turned into two-lane roads weaving through woodland and pastures. The sun was now low in the sky. He'd made two stops. One for fuel, and a longer one to eat. The establishment was a small family-run affair. She stayed in the car and devoured a gas station sandwich, not fond of the taste, but ceding that she needed to eat something.

Hermione still had no idea where his final destination was, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to speculate. The police car never tailed the Renault too closely, usually at least a minute or more behind. 

The tracker was a godsend, she concluded. Perhaps they could make it a standard piece of equipment for future operations. There were few magic users across Europol, but the tech could be used by muggles after being initialized by a Witch or Wizard.

Looking out of the driver's side window, she estimated less than an hour of light remained. The road signs told her where this journey would, in all likelihood, conclude.

The Island of Le Mont-Saint-Michel.

She'd always wanted to go there as a child. The pictures made it seem so beautiful.

Scores of cars and buses were moving away from the site, the main gates now closed and tour groups returning to their overnight hotels in nearby Rennes and beyond.

She expertly navigated the sedan over the bridge across the currently flooded tidal plain and parked the next to the Alpine. Seeing the car up close, she couldn't help admire the soft lines and sculptured curves of the body. Hermione lightly traced a single finger over the front fender and gazed at the setting sun. The fiery disk was just beginning to kiss the horizon.

That was as much as she'd allowed herself to be distracted tonight. Tapping her wand over her head, she melted from sight.

oOo

Harry couldn't help but marvel that his day had started in the Capital, before eating breakfast with his Father overlooking the Mediterranean, and now, as the light faded, he was gazing out towards the Channel. The marvel of modern travel.

He parked the car and studied the impressive structure perched atop the hill. The Abbey was there. He stretched in anticipation, his muscles a bit stiff from sitting in a car all day. Shrugging off the coat, he was left with black cargo pants and a form-fitting long sleeve shirt, also in black.

The gate was easily circumvented with a run and a jump up the nearby sandstone wall. The lack of other people, he mused, would make this self-guided tour quite agreeable. It was one of the most enjoyable aspects of his line of work, walking around deserted museums, and dodging roving guards.

But it soon became apparent that this place was designed to keep people away from the top levels. It was confusing, and the odd layout forced him had to double back twice and try a different route.

Eventually, enough was enough, and Harry fished a grappling hook from his cargo pant's bottomless pocket. With practiced efficiency, the steelhead swung around twice and then high into the air, landing expertly behind a masonry chimney. A few test tugs ensured it was secure, and he effortlessly began climbing the rope.

Finally, perched upon the steep roof, the layout became a little clearer. A nearby parapet, about a meter and a half wide was the easiest way down and into the small courtyard. From there, a large, very old door allowed entry to the spacious West Terrace. By the time he finally slipped through the doors, the sun was just a hot, molten silver. The golden light that had illuminated the ancient stone walls was dimming.

It was a special moment when the night finally won over the day.

Looking around, he assumed this was the place. The co-ordinates hadn't been specific of course, but Harry had a feeling this was an appropriate setting for the handover.

"Right on time, Crimson Hare." a supremely confident, aristocratic voice drawled.

Harry turned away from the view and spotted the lone figure standing in the now open main doors of the Neo classic Church-Abbey.

"I aim to please." Was the response. There was a mild breeze that blew about the large, open platform. Harry got his first look at the seller. He was a man of average height and slender build, with long, wavy black hair, neatly trimmed mustache, and goatee.

A gray business suit and cane of all things finished off the look. Seeing how the man hadn't moved, Harry closed the distance, ascending the five or so steps and across the upper half of the stone terrace.

"The Painting?"

Harry pulled the paper-wrapped frame from his expandable pocket and made to unwrap the protective covering.

"Stop!" the stranger nearly shouted, holding up a white-gloved hand. The thief's hands stilled. "As you wish."

Why would he not wish to authenticate the painting? How was he to know it was not something else entirely? For the amount of effort he'd expended obtaining the thing, Harry had been looking forward to seeing a look of approval on the man's face.

"The Manuscript?" he responded, putting his personal observations aside.

"Of course." The suited man produced a leather-bound notebook from his inner jacket pocket.

"We'll be taking that." A shrill female voice interjected, causing both men to whip their heads around and identify the newcomer. Or newcomers. There were eight of them, all wearing white masks and black robes. Of course.

"You were followed?" the mustached man hissed, hand tightening on the cane. Harry frowned, pulling his wand.

"Yes." The Hare confirmed. "Though not by them."

The man didn't have time to reprimand him further as a purple curse zipped between them and continued on past the low wall before traveling over the water.

"Enough chit chat!" the masked woman snapped. "Hand. Over. The. Book."

Harry tucked said book into a pocket. "How did you locate me?" he asked as if speaking to a regular person on the street instead of a group of murderous terrorists. "I don't recall any of you receiving an invitation."

Potter and his mystery seller were slowly backing away from the doors, and towards the center of the courtyard. They'd run out of space in another forty feet or so.

"I assume you know who and what they are." Potter murmured to the suit-wearing man. "Can you defend yourself?"

His companion snorted. "Do not concern yourself with my safety." He stated with supreme confidence. The still wrapped painting was tucked under his arm, but he gently lowered it down the half-meter tall drop next to the central steps a moment later.

The would-be robbers had managed to clear the doorway and spread out on the other side. Their wands were raised, making it look like some perverse iteration of a firing squad. The leader was pacing back and forth, fidgeting, and generally behaving quite oddly.

"Last chance Potter. The book, or your life." She spat from behind her mask, her crooked wand glowing menacingly.

He highly doubted it would end with just the book. Curse them for interrupting his meeting. And curse them he would. But how had they known about the Manuscript? Or his real identity for that matter. With a deep breath, Harry centered himself, mind focusing on the fight to come.

He answered with fire.

oOo

Six years ago:

The space between the two dueling platforms was littered with debris, a testament to the fierce fight that had taken place mere moments before. The fifteen-year-old was breathing heavily, his sweat-covered chest heaving mightily, lungs fighting to draw in enough oxygen.

He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns that stung from perspiration. Though they looked serious, none were debilitating, and only a select few hampered his mobility. His clothes were in tatters, but at least the pants were still around his arse.

This time.

"C'mon kid, is that the best you can do?" his opponent taunted, looking at ease, and sounding almost bored. She also didn't have so much as a scratch on her.

He answered with transfiguration of a caliber that would make the national examiners take a second look at him, at least for his age. The ropes, chains and many, many bits of animals morphed into a plain white sand hand large enough to wrap around a person completely and squeeze the life out of them.

The construct closed on the woman and exploded against a shield that popped into existence at the last second. She didn't immediately retaliate, no doubt wanting to see what her pupil would do next. 

Harry had taken the time to cast a mirage spell on the path between them, and a disillusionment charm on himself. Between the two, the distortions should make her unable to visually acquire him.

He could instantly think of a dozen ways to counteract the move, but his focus was divided between the layered illusions and reshaping the sand into a sphere that was applying increasing pressure on his mentor's shield.

With her vision obscured, she deemed that playtime was over, and rapidly expanded the shield, expelling energy but scattering the fine material all over the dueling rink and adjacent seating area.

She growled at the mess, making sure to leave him intact just enough to hold a broom when she was done with him.

Two powerful bludgeoners pounded her weakened shield, nearly shattering it. Had he used a third, she'd have been forced to sidestep.

But the kid was running on fumes. She grinned, a lock of curly blonde-gray hair falling free from its braid. It was time to move in for the kill.

A firehose pressured jet of water blew through the layered illusionary magic, forcing him to shield.

'Gotcha Kid.'

She froze the mass of water and sent a meaty polar bear barreling down towards the other end. He retaliated with a trio of penguins, though not used in the regular sense. The conjured birds came into existence at high speed and plowed into the bear with enough force to knock it off the ice ramp and into the item littered floor.

Before it could shake the cobwebs, a cutter finished it off, the birds already dead from broken necks.

She nearly laughed at the unorthodox counter but kept up the pressure. He was close to cracking. Over the last ten minutes, each attack she'd launched was getting closer to hitting its mark. Not bad, considering it was their third duel of the day.

Liese had to admit, the kid was good for his age. Harry could easily compete on the professional circuit and likely win with a surprise first strike if the other guy, or gal, underestimated him.

Opting to go for sheer power over technique, she pummeled his shield. He hunkered down behind it, too sore or fatigued to attempt dodging. It was only a matter of time now.

Loud gongs echoed through the old wood and steel arena, as spell after spell rang the now glowing shield like a church bell during mass. She kept it up, alternating between bludgeoners, stunners and other non-lethal spells. One of them was bound to crack him, and with the way she overpowered them, they would cause enough damage as is.

Another stunner left her wand, but wait! The shield flicked out, and she had to use every single one of her finely toned muscles to dodge the lightning-quick stunner hurtling her way. It breezed past her ample chest, missing the dueling leathers by mere centimeters.

"Damn, that was close." On the other end, her star pupil lay spread out on his back, out cold.

She walked over to him, swaying her hips a bit, and crouched down.

"That was a nice move kid. You almost had me there." She cupped his cheek, using her other hand to close a gash on his brow.

He'd identified her spell sequence and waited until the stunner was up in the rotation, opting to eat it for a chance to force a draw.

Smart.

Firing a feather-light charm at him, she picked the teen up like a sack of potatoes and threw him over her shoulder. Cleanup could wait until later.

They entered her studio suite above the sparring area and the woman carelessly dropped her pupil onto the couch. She stretched, grunting as her back popped a few times. He'd actually given her a pretty reasonable workout today, the older Witch was pleased to note.

Stripping off the dueling garments, she slipped into the shower, sighing in content as the hot water washed the sweat from her smooth skin.

Liese Warrington had the body of a woman half her age, and the greys had only started showing a few years ago. In fact, it was the only indicator that she was in her mid-fifties, she was proud to say. Not a wrinkle in sight and everything still worked as advertised. Yes, sir.

Her heritage was mixed, with a German mother and an American father, both magical. Liese grew up in America in the fifties but moved to Europe nigh thirty years ago.

She'd been the dueling champion six consecutive years in a row back in '89, but nowadays, she just taught the art.

Wearing nothing but a towel on her head, she crossed the living room to the fridge, pulling a chilled beer and cracking the bottle cap with a dirty fork felt o the kitchen table, before taking a good-sized pull from it.

Harry had been her student for about two years now, and his growth and potential were phenomenal. He'd become a fine wizard someday soon.

Too bad she wasn't a few decades younger, Liese thought, heading into her bedroom to find some clothes. In a few years, he'd make some girl very happy.

oOo

Inspector Granger watched the two men complete the transfer from behind the lower tier wall through the use of her pocket compact. Her plan was to sneak up behind the pair and drop both with stunners. It wasn't the most elegant, or even honorable solution, but since when had honor and theft ever meshed?

The Crimson Hare would get what he deserved. A cold, damp prison cell.

She was seconds from acting, wand gripped tightly when more voices joined the two. Hermione risked peeking over the wall once more, mainly because the still bright sky would make the stone wall she was using as concealment contrast as a near pitch-black to anyone looking this way.

A purple curse shot overhead, racing out into the vast nothingness past the artificial plateau, and disappearing in the distance. She ducked back behind cover, purely on instinct.

"Enough chit chat!" a female voice said in English. "Hand. Over. The. Book."

They were after…a book? The same book Crimson Hare had just traded the stolen painting for. She wondered what it was, but there were far more pressing things to worry about.

Like the anti-apparition wards, she just felt snap into place. She cursed herself for not bringing an emergency portkey, but the whole thing had been so rushed, the young woman was shocked she hadn't forgotten a shoe or something.

Her heart damn near stopped when the unknown seller crouched, placing the painting down across the stairs a mere stones-throw from her hiding spot. Thankfully his eyes were fixed on the threat ahead, leaving her unspotted, for now.

This was bad. Those two were outnumbered four to one, and she had no desire to become a third homicide victim alongside them. In fact, the situation was dire enough that she was genuinely worried about her safety, perhaps for the first time since losing her sister all those years ago.

Hermione peeked over the half meter step once more in time to see a hot, bright yellow mass of flame shoot from the Thief's wand. She could feel the heat on her forehead and blink at the bright light.

Screams could be heard over the roar of the flames. The ferocity of the attack cut the number of attackers down by two, their heavy clothes alight like small, bright torches. The entire side of the Abbey was on fire, fueled by residual magic despite being constructed of stone. In another minute or so, the flames would be snuffed, the rock not a suitable fuel to sustain them.

Immediately curses of all colors and varieties flew, some wild, as their casters sought better positions. She remained put, well protected for the moment. The suited man charged a Death Eater to his left, the cane actually concealing a blade.

He took two curses directly to the chest during the approach, but never even slowed down, slashing diagonally and hitting the neck of his first target. On the other side, her thief dodged and blocked with a hand-applied dueler's shield, his wand blazing away. Ropes, animals and deadly spells alike focused on no less than five combatants simultaneously, and amazingly, he seemed to be holding his own. Metal plates materialized from thin air to intercept deadly green light, only for those same shields to become kinetic missiles.

A death eater lost his head to one, while a quartet of no doubt venomous snakes struck the calves of another. Within a minute, the two had killed or maimed no less than six of the original eight. Only the female and another remained.

They looked poised to emerge victoriously. Until _he_ made his appearance.

" **Harry Potter**." The mental voice swept over her like a wave. It was barely above a whisper but boomed in her skull.

The Dark Lord had arrived.

Harry had taken a beating before. Heck, he _knew_ how to take a beating. But even when he'd royally pissed off Liese, she'd never gone at him like Voldemort was right now, at this very moment.

The sheer power caused him and Gray to retreat down the stairs, and towards the edge of the Terrace.

There, the Hare couldn't help but notice the Police Woman who'd been perusing him, crouched behind the wall, next to the painting her ally had placed there.

Meade, this was bad. He could scarcely protect himself. How was he to shield her too?

His insect swarm was roasted before they'd even managed to clear the halfway point between them. But the fire served as a perfect cover for his not so well thought out plan to save the girl. The flame freezing charm around him was peeling like photographic film, but it gave him the second needed to fire a body bind and his best disillusionment charm through the flames.

The Crimson Hare had been pushed back to within a scant few feet of the battlements. He held command over magic like no one Hermione had ever known, her instructors included. Yet it was all child's play to the sheer force of nature right behind her. She was frozen in shock, eyes wide, pressing her back into the stone, as if trying to merge with it to escape notice.

No matter what the thief threw his way, it was swatted aside and returned tenfold. She shielded her face from the unbearably hot fire and jerked when the body bind hit.

She lay there, motionless and completely terrified. The second spell felt familiar, like eggs cracking over her body. Her hand, the only thing visible of her own paralyzed body, faded from view.

The flames vanished, revealing the two who'd fought so hard. The man with the mustache had next to no suit left but seemed otherwise completely unharmed. The Hare, on the other hand, looked half dead. His black clothes were torn and burnt in a dozen places. Glistening crimson shone at the onset of twilight.

"An admirable defense, Harry." Voldemort glided down the stairs. "Your skill is commendable."

Harry used the reprieve to catch his breath instead of coming up with a corny one-liner.

"Years and years you've eluded me, and now here we are." The pale hairless man gracefully waved his arms, wand held almost like an artist would hold a brush. The Dark lord finally noticed the painting, still resting on the low wall.

He chuckled. "Oh, this is too good." Getting a look at the canvas as it floated over, the unharmed seller seemed to tense, whereas before he'd seemed almost un-phased. "The legendary Dorian Gray, leaving his treasured Portrait so exposed?"

Harry looked at his temporary brother in arms with surprise.

"Oh, you didn't know? But you recognize the name." Voldemort was absolutely reveling in the moment.

"Allow me to tell his tale to you, Harry. You see, when he was a young man, your mystery seller commissioned a portrait of himself."

The man named Dorian glared at Voldemort with pure hatred.

"It granted him something incredibly precious, despite being nothing more than a filthy muggle." The Dark Lord spat. Around him, more Death Eaters had assembled. They cheered at the insult.

Voldemort egged them on, turning away from his prey. "It was immortality, Harry. Such a boon. A true gift." He turned his head, red eyes blazing in the fading light. "All squandered!"

His pale, bony fingers touched the singed paper protecting the gilded frame.

"The painting ages, while he looks forever young. Any injuries are transferred to the canvas. Marvelous, isn't it? As long as this piece of art remains intact, Dorian Gray continues to draw breath."

The Dark Lord picked it up and tore a small corner of the paper from the side. Beside Harry Gray flinched, then groaned in pain as Voldemort scratched the surface, hard.

"Dorian Gray, you belong to me now." He announced, sounding like a boy commanding his dog. Voldemort handed the painting off to the Woman Death Eater.

"As for you Harry Potter, you have something I seek." He began pacing, though not in a panicked way like the woman now holding the painting had done before. No, more like an individual who simply wanted to stretch his legs. "Your interest in it leads me to believe you know of its secrets."

He stilled, finally dropping the niceties. "Give me the Manuscript, and I shall endeavor to make your death as quick and painless as that of your dear parents."

The thief sealed a deep wound in his side with his wand tip and braced himself for the inevitable.

Harry spat at Voldemort's feet and steeled himself. "You'll have to pull it from my cold, dead hands." He briefly wondered how it had all gone so terribly wrong within a few short minutes. Of course, this unexpected turn of events was not spontaneous. Somehow, the British Wizard had known of the fantastic rumors contained within the book resting in his pant pocket, as well as its location, here, on this night.

Raising his wand, he prepared for the inevitable.

Voldemort grinned, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. "I'm glad you said that. Dorian, kill him."

The Victorian Man hesitated but saw the bitch under the mask hold her wand to his painting.

"I am sorry, Harry Potter." He uttered in both apology and warning.

The attack was swift, but so was Harry's response. Ropes wrapped the Crimson Hare's onetime ally securely before the sharp sword could pierce his heart. The action, necessary as though it was, left him vulnerable, and Voldemort didn't show mercy.

The killing curse impacted his forehead before he could ever hope to shield, throwing him back and over the battlement with a backflip. A soft splash could be heard a few seconds later.

Harry Potter was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Tonks cursed as the scene played out some thirty feet below. From her perch atop the Church roof, she had a near bird's eye view of the rapidly deteriorating situation below. She spared a quick glance at the Policewoman who'd planned to ambush Harry and the other man just moments before. Would she help them? Tonks considered stepping in but the odds weren't much better with only one additional wand. She bit her lip. Maybe if the policewoman joined them as well?

Before she could even try and work out a rough plan of attack, her assignment opened up on the group with a nonverbal Ignis Grata, the most powerful fire spell before the dark and widely banned Fiendfyre. She was forced back as the flames shot up the side of the building, hotter than the mouth of a blast furnace.

The heat ebbed, replaced by screams and the snapping noises of spellfire. Pulling her own wand, Tonks was ready to commit, looking for targets of opportunity.

Three Death Eaters were already down by the time she'd gotten a read on the tactical situation, and a fourth's head just about shot up high enough for her to catch.

The kid's hand was a blur as he jabbed, feigned, and shielded with the same fluidity of an expert dueler. The fact that there were multiple opponents didn't seem to faze him. Anything that could be deflected was sent towards someone else. Everything else was either dodged or blocked by something solid, and in the latter case then used as a weapon.

The other guy was no slouch either. But unlike Harry, he didn't even try to dodge, simply soaking up hits that should have been lethal without even slowing down, while ramming his sword through the torso of one of those bastards. Those anti apparation wards were a double-edged sword it seemed, no pun intended.

For a brief moment, she thought they had this ambush in the bag.

Then it all went to shite.

Bloody fucking 'You know who' himself appeared, and began dishing out an arse-kicking so epic it made Mad eye's skirmishes with the Death Eaters look like a ruddy tea party in comparison.

The Magic was so thick she could practically taste it on the tip of her tongue. After thoroughly thrashing the younger Wizard Voldemort went into lecture mode, revealing the mysterious Man's secrets. Then, in a sick twist, he ordered Gray to kill Harry.

The kid must have seen it coming, binding him nice and goo-. She nearly screamed when the Dark Lord casually snapped off a Killing Curse, hitting Harry square in the face. She watched him tumble over the Battlements, disappearing from view.

Slapping a hand over her mouth she sobbed, large salty tears rolling down her cheek and hand. Later on, she'd recall that Voldemort gloated, but only with the use of Dumbledore's pensieve.

At the time it all faded into a dull buzz as shock set in. That is, until he turned and gazed up at her, two crimson pinpricks in the growing darkness, staring right at her. Tonks's heart skipped a beat or three despite being under Dumbledore's personal invisibility cloak.

Voldemort smiled in a way that made her want to scrub her skin off in the shower with a hard bristle brush.

'He knows!' she shouted in her head. Stumbling back, the Metamorph nearly slipped on one of the old clay tiles but managed to run down the ridge of the roof, before hopped onto the broom waiting there. Within thirty seconds she'd cleared the island's shores and with it the disapparation wards.

A loud crack signaled her departure.

oOo

It had been two days since the incident at the Abbey. The French Aurors had found her underneath the pale green light of the Dark Mark, frozen in place. They'd questioned her for hours afterward, asking the same questions over and over.

Did she create the infamous mark that had lingered over her? Was she a Death Eater? You moved from England. Interesting. Are you a sympathizer?

She understood of course, but to be on the other side of the table made her feel like some sort of criminal, and it had been an awful experience. She'd finally snapped at the French Auror and told him off. Her position within muggle law enforcement meant nothing to them.

Eventually, mercifully, they decided to release her. Standing alone in front of the French Ministry of Magic's main entrance, Hermione looked around, hoping to spot a familiar face. Anyone really. But no one was waiting for her.

Hours later she was sitting in the favorite spot of her Paris apartment, gazing out of the window with eyes unseeing. It was raining heavily, the fat droplets pelting the single window pane with enough force to create a sort of static noise throughout the dark, empty space. Rivulets of water raced down the thin, delicate glass pane, finding random-looking paths of least resistance as the earth pulled them down.

Her treacherous mind flashed back to the seconds following Harry Potter's death. The Dark Lord revealed in the victory, so close to her she could hear his robes rustle as he moved. His joy was short-lived however as he ordered the others to retrieve the body, and far more importantly, the book. When they'd returned empty-handed, he had flayed one of them alive and tortured another until the man couldn't scream, his vocal cords were so raw.

She'd been so terrified at his close presence and gut-wrenching actions, sure he'd be able to hear her heart thud in her chest. But whatever variant of the disillusionment charm the Hare had used to hide her was up to the challenge of preventing her discovery, torture, and ultimately death at the hands of those barbarians.

It was well known what they did to the women, especially those of 'impure' blood. Wrapping her hands around her arms, she tried to rub some warmth into the extremities, to no avail.

Today she'd finally addressed the situation at work upon taking two consecutive sick days before being summoned to Brussels. No doubt they had finally caught wind of her solo mission to Normandy and wanted to properly debrief her.

Following a detailed verbal recollection of the events with the Commissioner, she'd been placed on administrative leave. Hermione didn't protest the decision but complained within reason when told she'd have to see a shrink, a magical one, as soon as tomorrow.

She snorted.

What a joke. The one her parents had made her see after the attack at Hogwarts and again following her sister's death hadn't made the slightest difference, in her opinion at least.

A particular powerful gust of wind rattled the window in its frame, snapping her from her depressing thoughts.

Tomorrow she'd visit her Mother and Father in England. Despite the increasing amount of 'incidents' ranging from deaths, freak accidents, and disappearances, they'd refused to leave the country. At least she'd managed to convince them to move into the countryside and away from the worst of the violence plaguing London.

Hermione strongly suspected that had been their plan eventually, and she'd just accelerated the timeline somewhat with her constant worrying. Further putting her at ease were the professional-grade wards she'd insisted on, and attained at a heavy discount through an old school friend's spouse.

Hmmm, perhaps she'd visit them as well, if only for the fact that it had been nearly three months since seeing their adorable little girl.

That modicum of good news lifted her spirits if only a little. Family and friends would help her rebound from this faster than she could on her own, and certainly more quickly than some irritating head doctor. Hermione slipped from the padded bench and towards the bedroom, where she'd let the water hitting the skylight above the bed lull her to sleep.

oOo

Tiny feet scrambled to evade the cool water as another wave broke against the sandy shore. It was a tiny thing, but to children, even the most mundane of things could be great fun. The bold little feet braved the wet sand once more, tempting fate and risking wet toes. This time the water was determined to get even, and swept over the chubby, little feet, prompting a brief shriek of outrage that morphed into joyous laughter a second later.

Fleur couldn't help but smile as her child played in the surf. The sun was wonderful against her exposed arms. The light summer dress had most certainly been the right choice, she concluded.

Her eye caught something in the sand and she leaned down to pick the partially submerged shell from the gritty sand. A quick rinse in a clear puddle saw it clean enough to inspect. Satisfied, she placed it with the others already discovered on this fine walk.

"Arabelle, stay close!" she reminded the rambunctious three-year-old. The little girl could hardly be stopped, and when she smelt adventure, it usually ended up with a footrace to catch the little redheaded spitfire.

It seemed today was no different. Fleur gave her daughter a sporting head start before setting off, slow at first.

"Ahh, I'm coming for you." She warned, trying to sound serious and failing utterly. "You'd better hope I don't catch you, little one." The girl giggled and picked up the pace, often looking back at her mother over her shoulder.

Naturally, her little feet tripped over something, and she sailed face-first into the sand. Her mother laughed loudly, knowing it would take far more than that to start the waterworks, as Bill liked to say.

Jogging up to her, Fleur swiftly picked her up and blew a raspberry on her tummy. The shrieking started again, high pitched and carrying across the beach some distance.

The platinum blonde held her precious treasure for a few seconds longer, glancing back at their home in the distance. They were close to the rocky cliffs around the next sand spit, and dangerous places like that were no place for her little Arabelle.

The little girl though longingly looked that way, something having drawn her interest.

"Mama, what's that?" She looked towards where the little arm was pointing and narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know. Mon ange." Flour muttered, now cautious. She closed in on the mysterious shape, keeping her daughter's gaze pointed away and over her shoulder. Arabelle was beginning to squirm but the woman wouldn't let her down.

With every step, she became more convinced that it was a person. There was no chance she'd let her see something bad like this, should it turn out to be the worst.

It was a man, soaked to the bone, laying upright in the sand. The waves licked at his boots, and his clothing was tattered beyond repair. Whoever he was, the face was young. Younger than her, she concluded. Fleur watched for signs of life and to her surprise did observe his chest rise and fall, though only minutely.

Drawing her wand, she put Arabelle down and conjured a puppy to serve as a distraction. It was a mean thing to do, but Fleur would not allow her any closer.

The girl instantly forgot what had interested her as the small French bulldog ran laps around her, barking happily.

Fleur approached cautiously, stunner on the tip of her tongue should he become active. She needn't have worried. A medical diagnostic charm she picked up from her husband told her he was in bad shape.

"Merde." she whispered, getting to work stabilizing him.

oOo

He smelt fresh linen. It wasn't overpowering, but pleasant. Shifting his body slightly, he determined from the scratchy feel that the bedding had been air-dried. He also noted that his body was sore. Very sore. The small amount of movement rewarded him with a dull ache in his left leg and ribs, to name a few areas.

Eyes fluttered open but shut again just as quickly. It was bright. Willing his arm to move, he used his hand to block the worst of the light.

"Urrghh." He managed to croak. Wonderful, his throat was dry as well. Glancing around, he spotted a pitcher of clear liquid close by. Rolling towards it brought with it a world of pain, but he ignored it in favor of slaking his thirst.

It proved to be a bit more difficult than expected. He was weak, and simply grasping the glass with both hands left him shaking from the exertion.

It was all worth it though when that first drop touched his cracked lips. Drinking deeply, nearly half the contents of the pitcher vanished in a few short seconds. Pushing it back onto the small bedside table he slumped back, breathing hard. Each breath inflamed his already aching ribs, turning the dull pain into a sharp one.

What the hell had happened to him?

His actions must have made some noise, as shortly after laying back down the door cracked open. A beautiful woman with long, blonde hair entered.

"You're awake." She stated neutrally. He could see she was holding a long stick. A wand.

"Oui." He mumbled softly, slightly wary. "What happened?"

She shrugged, moving to the other side of the room and seating herself in a simple wooden chair in the corner. The wand remained in her hand. Her clothes could be described as casual. Plain beige pants that flared slightly around the bottom, a conservative light blue blouse with short sleeves, and sandals.

"I found you nearly dead on the beach three days ago." She answered. "You've been unconscious the entire time."

That was the extent of her knowledge. He blinked, absorbing the information, and finally nodded. She was surprised at the mellow response, though perhaps that had more to do with his condition.

"Do you know how you ended up in the water?" she found herself asking. The question had been on her mind since finding him. What she didn't say was that he'd carried some items on his person, including a wand, muggle pistol, identification and a book with blank pages.

He looked up, confusion evident on his features. "I-I don't remember." His eyes widened, and he looked at her, almost fearful. "I don't remember a thing!"

oOo

A week had passed since waking up at the cozy little shell cottage situated on the shores of Normandy. A week wrought with frustration as he attempted to regain his strength and memories. The woman, Fleur, had given him a book and identification papers. When he'd asked if there was anything else, she'd hesitantly replied yes, but made no move to hand the unknown items over.

It surprised him at how quickly he deduced that the items were weapons. How would he know this? And why would he carry them?

The book revealed little. It was waterlogged but the pages were blank save for the first, which contained a name. Surprisingly the ink hadn't bled into the surrounding paper, despite being soaked.

Bethany Sly.

Who was she? Did he know her?

The identification showed his face on a French Driver license, several credit cards and some three thousand francs in large notes.

His name? Philippe Desrosiers. The surname meant 'from the rose bushes'. It didn't ring a bell, but that wasn't surprising considering his memory was a blank slate. Phillippe spent much of his day reading the newspapers, both from the Hibou, or Owl in French, and the Muggle newsprints Fleur brought home daily.

Fleur had quickly pressed him into service watching the child while she ran some much-needed errands. This change of heart occurred after she'd observed the two play simple word games while helping her with meal preparation. Arabelle was smart for her age, but still only three. Philippe though had no problem engaging her in an instructional manner, making her daughter think before answering.

For someone hell-bent on running around all day, it was a perplexing change to bear witness to.

Initially, Philippe was hesitant to take on the task, but Fleur had resolutely stated that if he were to stay as their guest then he'd had to pull his weight.

Not liking the situation but seeing little choice, he conceded. Now though the interactions were the highlight of his day.

His lovely host was married to a curse breaker working for the Goblins, he'd learned, and currently away for work. She'd given him some of his clothes, their builds similar enough that the garments didn't even need to be modified magically.

Philippe knew of magic. It did not surprise him when she'd held that wand during their first encounter and Fleur had not tried to hide the ability from him.

His wand must be one of the items she hadn't given back unless he was actually a squib. He shuttered at the thought but didn't think it likely.

Information like that came easy to him. He knew the names of prominent political figures, and when they were elected, but couldn't recall anything about what he'd done at that time. It was frustrating, to say the least.

oOo

Today the three were going for a walk by the beach. He felt he was strong enough to attempt the excursion. Shell Cottage was quite lovely, but spending so much time within its walls was slowly driving him mad.

It was strange, but walking together like this, Arabelle pleading with them to swing her higher as she held his and Fleur's hand, he couldn't help but think of himself as part of a small but very special family.

Smiling came easily around them. It was a dangerous game he was playing, becoming attached like this. There was no place here for him. He knew this.

Once his strength had returned, Philippe would move on. Shaking his head to rid himself of the negative thoughts, he laughed for the first time in what felt like forever as the child tugged on his fingers, for today was not that day.

oOo

The pretty French Witch was cooking up a storm today. Arabelle and Philippe wisely stayed clear, the latter choosing to distract the child with Fleur's wand while she was busy. Wispy smoke congealed into cute shapes similar to the stuffed animals in her bedroom.

She made to grab them and stumbled right through. He cast a quick cushioning charm on the floor, and that distracted her even more, hands pushing against the invisible pillows in wonder. Honestly, the simplest things would entertain this child, he thought with a smirk.

Performing even simple magic flooded him with relief. He was a wizard, something he could add to his identity.

Feeling devious, he fired a low powered tickling charm at her. Arabelle sounded like a hyena, and the sounds distracted Fleur enough to warrant mention of omission of Philippe's favorite dish if he kept it up.

Of course, he had no idea what his favorite food was, it was simply the one he commented on liking the most during mealtimes during these past two weeks.

They were expecting a guest tonight. A very good school friend of Fleur's was coming to visit from Paris. Philippe too eventually got caught up in the excitement the two were exhibiting. He valued their company, and dare he say, he considered Fleur as a friend. Arabelle even referred to him as Uncle Philippe.

But the prospect of being able to meet and interact with another adult left him as anxious as his hosts.

Six o'clock was fast approaching. Dinner was ready and the table set. The three- almost four-year-old, who'd graduated to a real chair(with a booster) only a short while ago was getting 'Hangry', forcing him to up his distraction game. Riding on his shoulders seemed to do the trick, and she commanded him all throughout the house.

The empty stomach could wait!

Two sharp rasps on the door drew the Blonde Witch out of the kitchen.

"Hermione!" she greeted upon admitting the shorter brunette, hugging her friend and planting two chaste kisses on either cheek.

"Fleur." She smiled back, looking slightly fatigued. She had dark lines under her eyes. No doubt those muggle police people were running her ragged again, Fleur noted with a slight frown, guiding her guest into the small sitting area.

The laughter from upstairs was getting louder. The other two would be down in a moment.

"Is Bill back from work?" Hermione inquired, picking up on the laughter of a man. Fleur poured her friend a glass of red wine, then one for herself, but didn't have time to answer before Philippe rounded the corner, Arabelle still on his shoulder, a firm grasp on his black locks.

"Bonjour." He greeted lightly, face slightly flushed from running up and down the stairs with a surprisingly heavy toddler on his back. Hermione was about to take a sip but glanced over her shoulder to return the greet-

The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.

Her wand was out a second later.

oOo

Harry froze, not from fear, but because he couldn't have stopped her without placing Arabelle in danger. Gently, and slowly, he grabbing hold of the child, then placed her on the floor and behind him, out of immediate danger.

"Hermione, are you insane?" Fleur shouted, taken aback by the sudden hostility. The brunette though ignored her.

"You! You're supposed to be dead." She snapped. Swallowing hard. She was…afraid? Distressed even. Her wand was anything but steady, shaking visibly, but not enough for him to risk rushing forward. "I watched you get stuck by the killing curse!"

He held out his hands in a non-threatening way. "Please Madame, you must be mistaken." he reasoned, while his mind was wondering what she'd just said. It made no sense. One didn't just walk away from that particular Unforgivable. "Just lower your wand. Please."

"You're the Crimson Hare!" she shouted, the tip now glowing. "Why are you here? I swear if you hurt them, I'll tear you limb from limb!"

"Hermione!" Fleur shouted, her own wand now pointed at her. Philippe though just staggered, a sharp pain in his head buckling his legs.

Crimson Hare. Crimson Hare. Where had he heard that name before? Fleeting images of…museums and bank vaults rushed past.

What was happening to him?

The moment of weakness was all it took for Inspector Granger to act. Her stunner hit him square in the chest, dropping him to the floor.

Arabelle was crying. Fleur was seconds away from hexing her friend. And Hermione? She wondered how the hell a dead man had, up until a moment ago stood in front of her.

oOo

He woke, not in his bed but on the living room couch. Had he dozed off reading the paper again? Memories came rushing back. Not his old ones, but ones from just before he'd been...attacked!

With a jerk, he shot up, the blanket pooling around his lap. The two women sitting at the nearby table looked at him in unison with differing expressions.

One was suspicious. Oddly enough it was Fleur. The other? Well, let's just say the term frosty was putting it politely.

"Merde, my head." He muttered, hand reaching up to clutch the body part in question. Between his fingertips, a strong pulse throbbed, and every beat renewed the pressure within. The blonde rose and brought him water, but there was no warmth like he was used to.

"Merci" he accepted the glass, wondering what had changed. "Fleur, what's going on?"

"What's going on?" she repeated testily, and he knew that tone, despite not recalled a woman ever having used it with him.

"I'll tell you, _Philippe_. You're a career criminal!" She was getting worked up. He'd only seen her once like this when her husband Bill phoned to inform her his stay had been extended. Her features had shifted slightly, taking on an avian sort of look.

Veela, he concluded, knowing this, but nothing of himself. Funny how that worked. A head full of information, and all irrelevant at the same time.

"Oh, and that is most certainly not your name!" she continued, hissing.

He gaped at her for a few seconds, mouth open. "A criminal?" He was stunned but latched on to the second part more. The name she'd called him for the last two weeks had been false?

"My name… isn't Philippe?"

"Non, it is not." She supplied curtly, but the edge was gone. Her anger was misplaced, and she knew it. He didn't remember. How could she be mad when he wasn't even aware that the name he was using was false?

He turned slightly to directly address the _guest_. "Do you know who I am?"

She looked conflicted. Why would she be? The Brunette nodded.

"Can you tell me?" he asked, heart, pounding in his chest in anticipation.

"You're Harry Potter." She supplied, sounding as though it was all a bad joke. He expected the name to mean something, or to have another reaction like the one before. But nothing happened.

"I'm Harry?"

Fleur snorted, and Hermione cracked a small smile for a second as well. "Perhaps." She couldn't help herself. Harry glared at her but attempted to stand.

"Where is Arabelle?" he asked, noting it was dark out. Fleur took a big gulp of her red wine. "In bed. She ate with us and I put her down right after."

He relaxed somewhat, enough that the body language was evident to the Inspector. Pulling up a chair, he seated himself.

"Can you tell me what happened? Why don't I remember anything?" he correctly assumed that Fleur had clued the woman in on his condition.

Hermione sighed and explained from the beginning.

oOo

"Are you going to arrest me?" he asked later that night. Their host had excused herself temporarily to check on Arabelle, who'd begun to stir in her sleep. They were still sitting at the table, but cradling cups of tea and coffee instead of the wine from earlier.

Thankfully his headache had abated, but he wouldn't risk its return by consuming alcohol.

Over the last three hours, she was able to observe him up close. The eyeglasses were different, made by Fleur some three weeks earlier. The pictures had never properly been able to capture the intensity of his eyes. They almost glowed, even in the dim light of the cottage.

"I haven't decided." She admitted, taking a sip from her drink. She'd hoped for a relaxing dinner with a good friend and a chance to put work aside, even for a short while. Instead, it had found her, and with a vengeance. Curse her rotten luck.

At least the drink was good.

"I'm glad you were unhurt." He admitted. "It sounded like an unpleasant night."

That was an understatement. She'd been a mess afterward, despite not even having directly participated. In fact, she almost envied his amnesia. At least his sleep wouldn't be plagued by nightmares like hers had been.

"Thank you." She finally replied, not really sure what else to say. A few minutes passed but Fleur still hadn't returned. The silence was getting annoying, and she said something stupid.

"If I were to let you go, what would you do?"

He leaned back, draining the small porcelain cup. "What can I do?" he shrugged. "So far you're the only person who knows who I am. I'm sure my previous self didn't have many friends, and if he did, then they certainly wouldn't know of his 'work'."

She had to admit, it was an unusual situation. Her file on the Crimson Hare was done and closed. Her superiors had been debriefed with the facts. Even if she brought him in, it would call into question what happened that night. She knew what she saw. Harry Potter was killed in front of her very eyes.

Yet here he was, alive and well, drinking coffee with her. It was just so surreal.

"If you could, would you want to regain your memories, knowing what you did?" It certainly wasn't an easy question.

He sighed, deciding to answer the question with one of his own. "Do you know what it's like? Not knowing the person you are? It feels like-" he stopped, thinking of the right words. "It's as if there's a void. Up here." He tapped his head. "The frustration. It can be overwhelming. Thank god someone like Fleur found me. Those two…they make it easier. There isn't as much despair." He shook his head. "I know it won't last. I shouldn't be here."

She couldn't help but feel some sympathy towards him, despite his colorful past. Perhaps it was because of his actions back at the Abbey, or that her sense of empathy had come back from sabbatical.

She briefly considered letting him stay with her but ruthlessly squashed the thought. She didn't have a habit of taking in strays, especially infamous ones.

Besides, a decorated Police Inspector harboring a Master Criminal? It was absurd.

"And if by some chance you do remember?" Her chocolate brown eyes locked with his green. "Would you…"

"Continue thieving?" he finished, anticipating what she wanted to know. This woman was very determined to understand his goals when in reality he had none as of yet. It took an effort to keep eye contact with her. "I honestly cannot say."

He likened her expression to a volcano about to blow. "But-" he continued before she could get going.

"-seeing how I don't wish to rob anyone now, it may not matter. It was part of my identity, but now, so is this. I am both Harry Potter, and Philippe Roaché."

"Theft is not Robbery." She clarified. "Robbers are thugs, with no finesse or elegance." He grinned, the same damn grin he'd given her at the Train Station during their first encounter.

"That sounds an awful lot like a recruiting statement. You clearly have respect for thieves."

"Only the good ones." She huffed, not liking the teasing.

He couldn't help himself. "And how did I rank on your scoreboard?"

"Barely acceptable. Mediocre. Average." One of her eyebrows rose. "Shall I go on?"

Harry placed a hand over his heart. "Your words cut deep."

Hermione, despite her best efforts, couldn't help but laugh.

From the darkened hallway Fleur observed her friend with a smile of her own. She'd always been such a serious girl in school, and that isolation had only gotten worse after she'd graduated. It was good to see her interact with someone, and a boy no less.

It was getting late, and the cooking, as well as the evening's excitement, had tired her out. They could fight over who got the spare room tonight. The smile turned more mischievous. Or perhaps they'd share.

oOo

The Blonde found her friend sitting at the same spot she'd left her at the night before. The smell of coffee permeated the air, having done its job of drawing her from her soft, warm bed. Arabelle would be up soon, and she wanted to make the most of her time with Hermione. Yesterday hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Phili-Harry was snoring softly on the couch, sprawled out awkwardly. "Good Morning" Fleur greeted, grabbing the pot and pouring herself a cup. The muggle machine was a god sent.

Hermione's hair was frizzy, something she'd been unable to avoid in the mornings. It usually settled after a good comb and a dozen hair ties, clips, or a combination of the two.

"Morning" she returned, not really meaning it. Fleur slipped into the seat across from her and grinned. "So, had a fun night?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Nonsense. Just thinking of the possibilities." Fleur gushed. "The lovely young policewoman falling for the handsome thief. It's the stuff of romance novels!"

'Merde, Bill had been gone far too long for her mind to go this wild,' said policewoman thought to herself.

"I'll admit, he is easy on the eyes. But I don't think so."

Her friend sighed, sounding love-struck. It was so unlike her. "Such a shame," she said to herself, before changing the subject.

"Will you spend the day?"

The Europol agent nodded. "Oui. I had planned on it."

"Good. Then you can help me make breakfast."

oOo

While the smell of Coffee had been insufficient to rouse him, the Bacon sure did the trick. It was fortunate too, because not a minute after leaving the couch his favorite redhead arrived, fully charged and halfcocked. Harry had no illusions that he'd have been trampled had he still been asleep on the couch.

Despite being an almost perfect stranger, he blended nearly seamlessly into the trio's morning routine, at least when Hermione was here, even going so far as to pull in Mademoiselle Detective for some impromptu roleplaying with Arabelle.

The mercury was estimated to peak in the mid-thirties today if the radio was to be believed, which made visiting the sea an attractive way to cool off and have some fun.

For an almost-four-year-old who'd been told for months not to go in the water and all of a sudden being allowed to now, it was almost too much. Fleur practically had to put a harness on her, and even then she could have given a bobsled dog team a run for their money.

Picking a spot close to the Cottage, they unpacked. Beach towels, sun umbrellas, the works. Hermione had known that Crimson Hare must be fit. Some of the heists he'd pulled required an athlete's body, even if magic had been involved, which it wasn't.

Seeing his lithe, wiry body on display like that partially explained how he'd been able to pull the world's largest Bohemian chandelier from the ceiling in the Dolmabahce Palace in Istanbul.

She was frustrated. Here he was, not even hiding, yet completely unable to answer any of her questions. Why not use magic? Who had trained him? And where had all of that loot disappeared to! Despite the surf and sand, she was brooding.

"You're staring, you know." Fleur purred, pulling the shirt off to reveal her flawless form clad in a white bikini top and matching bottoms. Hermione's outfit was similar if a bit more conservative, with larger fabric triangles that covered smaller assets.

"It's not like that" the English Witch sulked. Fleur didn't answer, suddenly forced to run after the little red missile homing in on the water with a wicked cackle. Harry followed, eager to go for a real swim that didn't involve falling from medieval stone fortifications.

Eventually, the trio managed to coax her into the water as well, and she even managed to enjoy herself in the end.

oOo

"I want to help you remember," Hermione stated that night, finding him on the front deck gazing at the faint lines that were the white cliffs of Dover.

He looked surprised. "You hate thieves. Why would you help me?"

"Don't mistake my intentions as those of generosity." She clarified, sounding like her usual self. She leaned down, resting her hands on either side of the armrest he was sitting in. "I want to know how you did it. Every job you've pulled. I help you remember, and you walk me through them all. Every single one, no detail left out. Deal?"

He focused on her face, aware her shirt was drooping right in front of him. She smelt of soap from the quick shower after their swim. Lavender.

"You'd trust a thief like that?" he asked as if he wasn't talking about himself. Her body never wavered, perfectly still. "Not in the least." She answered. "But I trust you, as you are now. I'm taking a risk, yes. But the reward, to me, is worth it."

He grinned. "Reward?"

"Your secrets. Every last one. I'll even let you keep the loot you've already taken, shameful as though that is."

"How generous", he said dryly. "And if I refuse?"

A cold set of cuffs clicked around his right wrist. She smirked sinfully. "Then I bring you in, right here, right now."

"Not much deal if you ask me," he muttered, using his other hand to shake hers.

oOo

They sat in the living room two days later, a dossier's worth of evidence she'd collected on his thieving alter ego spread out on the coffee table. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, the strain of that much reading apparent. The girl was merciless when it came to information. Everything was incredibly well organized, cross-referenced, and possible theories were written in her neat penmanship between the margins.

Initially, they'd made progress, with him pointing out the glaringly obvious errors in a few theories. When she prompted him how he knew, Harry simply shrugged. The information was in there, but he couldn't recall where he'd learned it.

Watching her, absorbed in her work, was interesting to behold. Her passion and thirst for knowledge was like nothing he'd ever seen. He knew that wasn't much coming from him in his current state, but somehow he knew the fact would remain even should he recall every memory of his life with crystal clarity.

Again none of the pictures, facts, and past events evoked a vision like the one when she'd said the words; Crimson Hare. He was almost hoping for something at this point, despite recalling the pain he'd been in at the time before Hermione had knocked him out.

It seemed better than rediscovering yourself through sheets of paper, memorizing but not recalling. He felt like a clone, a blank slate, while the original was still out there. It was a silly thought, but there none the less.

"What about the book?" Hermione said, irritation very noticeable in her tone from the lack of progress today.

Harry knew answering a question with another question was a sure-fire way of getting on her bad side at this point, but he was tired and it was one in the morning.

"What book?" he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"The manuscript you traded for Gray's portrait of course. You went through an awful lot of effort to acquire it."

He rose, exhaling deeply, and headed up the stairs to his former guest room. Hermione had been using it nightly.  
"Harry!" she hissed, careful not to make too much noise. Fleur would throw a fireball at either of them if they woke Arabelle. The Part Veela witch liked her beauty sleep, and a cranky toddler would ruin everyone's day. Well, everyone but Hermione. She left looking prim and proper every morning at six, having been cleared fit to return to duty a few days ago.

He opened the door and walked towards the small, built-in wall shelf. His wallet and the book were resting there, as they had been for the last month or so.

"Help yourself." He said, placing the very old book in front of her. Were it not for its fragile state, he'd have tossed it at her.

Reseating himself on the couch downstairs he closed his eyes, only to have to force them open again at her next words.

"It's empty."

"Your powers of perception are truly magnificent. I am amazed you didn't catch me sooner." He drawled, reminding her of that Snape git she had for potions in her two short months at Hogwarts.

"Cur!" she growled, hitting him with considerable force.

He'd expected it and didn't even flinch, which infuriated her even more.

"Urrghh, you are worse than a child. How did you ever make it into Europol's top three master thieves list?"

This time he actually pulled his head forward.

"There's a list?" he asked, sounding far too pleased.

She ignored the man-child and flipped through the pages. "Perhaps it's encrypted? With a password, you have to write into its pages?"

Tired as he was, the idea of writing into the thing never actually crossed his mind.

"Let's try." He agreed, picking up a ballpoint pen and handing it to her. "please, if you would do me the honor? Your penmanship if far superior to my own, Miss Granger."

She took the writing utensil but held her tongue. She honestly couldn't take another round of the back and forth banter and would likely mount and throttle him if another was forced on her.

' _Who is Bethany Sly?'_

The ink faded into the paper, leaving no trace behind.

' _Who wants to know?'_

They leaned in closer as the words appeared. After fifteen seconds or so they faded again.

"Incredible. Imagine the charms required to capture the essence of a person within pages of paper. Like a moving portrait but…different."

"You think that's what this is?" he asked, wondering how she'd arrived at that conclusion.

She scribbled out something in response.

' _Your new owner.'_

"Are you trying to intimidate a book?" he deadpanned, feeling another yawn coming on.

'Speak the words I seek and you shall be allowed to read.'

"Damn it." She muttered, leaning back into the soft cushion. "I think we've done enough for tonight. Let's pick up from here tomorrow."

He grunted in agreement, already half asleep.

"Also, do not barge into my room like that again. It's rude."

Harry managed to pull himself back from blissful sleep enough to smirk as the thought formed.

"You should learn to lock it better then."

A pillow hit him in the face.

oOo

The front door of the darkened flat slammed shut, and was followed a second later by the metallic 'click' of the lock engaging. A groan of frustration and exhaustion emanated from its resident as she slid down towards the floor.

"Accio Booze" she pointed at the liquor cabinet. All manner of bottles flew over, pelting her arms, legs, and pretty much anywhere but her head, which she'd managed to cover in time.

"Argh, bloody hell!" Tonks cursed, realizing her mistake. One last brown glass bottle originating from the kitchen whacked her in the upper arm, but she got her wish. Picking one at random she twisted the metal cap off and took a big swig.

Bones was running her, and pretty much every other Auror in the department ragged trying to crack down on these Death Eater recruitment drives happening across the country. The DMLE, for the first time, had managed to insert several plain-clothed operatives into one of these events only a few days prior.

Following their report, the case had rapidly climbed to the top of the task board, marked priority level one. Though fanatical, the Dark Lord had managed to gather some truly talented public speakers to his cause that were practically whipping up the crowds into a near frenzy.

Tonks, due to her ability, had been one of those who'd witnessed firsthand what Voldemort's message entailed. It frightened her, even as she cheered on with the masses to ensure her cover remained solid.

They'd killed three muggle that night, execution-style. The crowd roared in approval like the old Roman Pantheon spectators must have some two thousand years prior. She'd barely kept it together for the debriefing and memory recall session afterward.

The experience earned her a single day off, and because she needed to debrief Dumbledore, getting pissed hadn't even been an option until now, three days later. That was a long time for her mind to stew, what with ingredients like guilt and regret over not being able to intervene. The girl wiped her mouth with a dirty sleeve, staring at nothing in particular. Some Auror she was.

Fred and George may have been able to bring her out of this funk, but those two bone heads were away on an order sanctioned mission to Ireland. Lucky buggers.

After draining most of the bottle, she pulled herself up and headed to the bathroom to draw a hot bath before the alcohol kicked in. The floors were a mess, and everything from magazines to old take out containers lay scattered around. A few more valuable items drew her attention, along with the satchel bag they'd spilled from.

They were the contents of her Order field kit, the very same she'd tossed onto the chair some three weeks ago upon returning from France. One of the bottles from the adjacent liquor cabinet must have knocked it over. A custom potions vial bandoleer filled with brews made by that slimy git Snape, a map, and a very special magnifying glass were only a few of the things it contained. Well, had contained.

Sighing, she picked up the latter two. Both were heavily charmed and worked in conjunction with the tracking bugs the twins had developed. Moving the lens over the map revealed the location of the tracker. Harry had managed to tuck it into her maid outfit's pocket. If she recalled it was still there, and needed to be returned.

Through the growing inebriation, she struggled to focus. Where was the second tracker again? Oh yeah, she'd placed it in the robes he'd purchased and left in the hotel room. Idly wondering what happened to it, she moved the charmed glass over the Paris area.

Nothing. Hmm, odd. Pulling away, a faint red line appeared, helping her pan in the right direction.

'Theoule Sur Mer? Why had his belongings been moved there?'

Reluctantly she plucked a sobering potion from the kit and downed it. This seemed important, and she needed to be sharp lest she gloss over something important.

What happens to items left by hotel guests? No one would have made the staff aware of Harry's death, so they should have been held, at least temporarily. Did one of them take the garments? Or had someone come to collect the items? Someone close to him perhaps!

Brilliant. Looks like her day wasn't over just yet. She needed to talk to her other boss again, it seemed.

oOo

Fleur was doing something she hadn't done in a long time. She'd fallen asleep while reading a book on the swing outside. The dream she was having wasn't half bad either. She was in her parent's garden, walking amongst the flowers. The scenery blurred and she was at the Burrow, the odd house her husband had grown up in.

Strong arms enveloped her from behind and she was peppered with dozens of soft kisses along her ear, jaw, and neck.

Hmmm, she moaned happily.

Back in the waking world, there was someone planting feather-light kisses on her, though his face was a bit scruffy.

"Fleur honey, wake up."

"Mmhh, cinq minutes de plus s'il vous plaît." (five more minutes please)

He did not let up, the strong, rough hands gently beginning to explore her, probing for weak spots. She did not seem to mind, but as fun as this game was, if she woke there'd be hell to pay.

He chuckled, focusing on tickling her in all the places he'd come to learn of.

"Non, méchant." she protested, brows scrunched together in displeasure, hands trying to swat him away.

Suddenly her eyes fluttered open, a displeased look leveled at the fiend who'd disturbed one of the best dreams she'd had in a very long time. That was until she realized who'd done the deed.

"Bill!" she shouted, her arms pulling him down into her ample bosom. The longhaired redhead nearly fell into her but managed to return the awkward hug regardless.

"I thought I'd surprise you, my love. Where's Arabelle?"

She let go finally, looking out at the beach. "There, most likely."

Bill followed her gaze to the couple walking up the trail to their home, a vibrant shock of red hair between them.

"Merlin's beard." She heard him mutter. "It can't be."

His wife of four years looked at him with confusion. "What iz it Bill", she asked, switching to English.

His head whipped around, confusion evident. "That- That's Harry bloody Potter!"

oOo

Bill Weasley's arrival held a lot of revelations. Word had spread of Britain's long lost celebrity's unfortunate end at the hands of 'You know who' in France.

But it went further than that. The Dark Lord had spun the tale into a PR campaign that sent scores flocking to him. The British Ministry had called up reserves and favors from oversea allies, which was keeping a tight lid on the simmering tensions, for now.

Vicious skirmishes had already occurred in both major wizarding commerce centers, London and Manchester. There was trouble brewing, and the authorities would only be able to control it so long.

"How do you know all of this?" Harry had asked, sitting around the table with the Lady Inspector to his left. Bill had been surprised the two got along so well, considering what she did for a living and what Tonks had been able to find on the Crimson Hare following her return to Britain.

Never in a million years would Bill have thought the man the Order had been looking for since he was a fifth-year was a master thief.

Of course, they'd also said he was dead. This was shaping up to be an interesting weekend.

"My brothers keep me abreast of current goings within Britain." Bill pursed his lips, wondering if there was any harm in telling him more in his current condition.

"They are part of an unofficial organization that works as a sort of intelligence gathering arm."

Both Harry and Hermione leaned forward, interest piqued. "Bill" Fleur said, weary. He patted her arm reassuringly.

"Relax, she's one of your closest friends, is she not? And from what I gather, Harry here seems trustworthy enough to have stayed in our house for the last month or so."

She nodded, simply worried about getting dragged into this horrid game being played on the other side of the channel.

"Now bear in mind that I've come by all of this information second hand." Bill continued, still holding his wife's hand. "I've been in Egypt for the last six weeks, but Fred's owl found me despite the communications blackout enacted by my employer during the dig."

He took a sip of tea to soothe his throat, not used to talking so much.

"The Order was watching Harry, though, from the sounds of it, he was running circles around the girl."

Across the table, Potter smirked, and Fleur's friend snorted. "She was there that night. The twins watched her memory of the battle. Said it was quite something to behold." Bill glanced up at the unassuming man, and Harry all of a sudden colored from all the attention.

"Dumbledore believes you dead, and I think that is a good thing. My brothers think it was the Headmaster's fault for what happened to you. After all, you'd been going about your business unnoticed for what, almost fifteen years? Then, not three weeks after finding out your location suddenly you're attacked as soon as they insert an agent. It doesn't sound right."

Harry was stunned. He'd been attacked because a supposed spymaster let information about his whereabouts leak? That couldn't have been a mistake.

"How did this Order find me in the first place?" he asked, unaware that he'd already asked a very similar question once before.

Bill frowned. "A newspaper picture I believe. I'm sorry; I left the letter at the campsite."

A fleeting image of a man on a veranda overlooking the sea flashed in his head. It was over so quick Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Massaging his forehead the confused man felt a slight pressure on his other arm. Hermione's hand was there, resting on it.

"What is it? Do you remember something?" when he looked from her and back down at the arm she withdrew her own suddenly.

Fleur had a knowing look but held back. It was not the time for teasing.

"I- a brief vision I think. I was…somewhere. It was sunny, and I could see the ocean." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, that's all."

"Don't worry," was her reassuring response. "Give it time."

He nodded with a sigh, then refocused on Bill. "So the Order found me, and then the Dark Lord did as well?" He recapped.

"Actually," Granger interjected, "When you were making the switch with Gray, I recall the Death Eaters demanding you hand over the manuscript. I think 'you know who' was aware you were after it. The Order may not have been at fault after all."

"Perhaps." He agreed, taking her word for it. It was so frustrating, not knowing. He relied on, what to him, were strangers to fill in gaps. Important gaps that he needed to know.

Of course, he was grateful to them all for their help, but it would be nice if he were able to contribute.

"What Manuscript?" Bill asked.

They handed the unassuming leather bound item over, and the Curse Breaker pulled his wand, casting charms that even Hermione didn't know.

"Sorry," he said finally, satisfied that it was safe. "I thought it was something dark at first." There was more to it than that, but Harry didn't want to go off on a tangent. "Lady Sly?" he read, handling it once he was done.

"The original owner." Hermione supplied. "We believe she had it password encrypted. A spoken phrase is required to read its contents."

"I see." Bill was good at breaking down millennia-old traps and curses, but the charms that must have gone into this object would not easily relinquish their secrets.

"You may have to take it to charms master." He suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry knew enough about the thing to want it before he lost his memory. I believe he'll have no problem with it once that's restored."

"Of course," Bill muttered. "While interesting, it wouldn't be wise to spend too much time on it. I have to admit though, I find myself surprised that you're willing to help him considering your differing views on the law." He said, unable to help himself.

"Just academic interest, nothing more." His wife's friend stated coolly. "The Crimson Hare has performed some of the greatest heists of the last thirty years, despite only being active for three. Wouldn't you give almost anything to speak to the Wizards who warded your precious grave sites?"

"Touche." He admitted, conceding defeat. Fleur patted his leg, amused that he'd tried on her behalf. He really was a darling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone, it's been a few months (I.e. half a year) and I apologize for the long gaps between updates, but life has been busy for me with a most welcome addition to the family that saps all the free time and energy from me and my spouse.**

 **The chapter below is one of two, ready and proofread to the best of my ability, but sure to contain some grammatical errors. Let me know if you find anything, and if you enjoyed the storytelling, or didn't, feel free to drop a review. They're always appreciated.**

The day finally arrived when Harry would say goodbye to Shell Cottage and the lovely little family he'd befriended there. Fleur had found a small brown suitcase for his meager possessions. She'd returned his wand and an old muggle gun. Hermione decided to turn a blind eye to the blatant firearms offenses he was committing by carrying one.

Fleur's eyes were damp, but the real threat was getting swept away by the proverbial sea of tears produced by Arabelle.

"Now, now, little one. No need to cry." He soothed, crouching down for a hug. "I promise to come and visit again soon." She tackled him hard, nearly causing him to lose his balance, and his composure.

Chuckling, the Wizard patted her back through the denim coveralls reassuringly.

"Promise?" she held out her pinky. Harry mirrored her, shaking on it. Hermione watched the tearful goodbye from beside her friend, trying not to smile. The Blonde would misinterpret the reason behind it and renew her crusade to play matchmaker.

It was a grey, cold morning, and Hermione had driven the hour and a half from Paris in a rented car, as she did not own one herself. They'd exhausted their options up here. It was time to seek answers elsewhere.

Not five minutes into their journey, the skies opened up, as if to reflect the little girl's outburst a few minutes prior. The wipers sprang into action, the unique sound of the rubber dragging across the glass the only discernible sound apart from the road noise.

Harry wondered briefly if the sudden downpour could be attributed to accidental magic on behalf of the tot. If so, she'd be a force to be reckoned with in the future.

"I was able to trace the vehicle you used to travel to Mont Saint Michel back to Theoule Sur Mer." His driver eventually stated, effectively repeating the conversation the night before. "A traffic camera at the intersection of Avenue De Lérins and Léon Montier is our destination."

He nodded, fist propping up his cheek as the rain finally eased up. "Why would I have willingly allowed myself to be tracked so easily?" he muttered, simply wondering out loud. "What reason would I have?"

"You're beginning to understand my frustration with you." She quipped, pulling onto the minor road that would lead them to the nearest high-speed corridor south.

Harry continued to stare out the rain-streaked window, frustration growling once more.

oOo

The drive, while not unpleasant, seemed to drag on longer than either expected. France was a large country, but neither was used to long road trips or at least none that Harry could recall. He took over following a pit stop outside of Clermont Ferrand for fuel and refreshments. As they proceeded towards the warmer parts of the country, the weather improved, and the occasional ray of sunshine would even find its way towards the surface off in the distance.

After the switch off, the second part of the journey passed much quicker, thanks in part because Harry had started asking her about his heists. The topic got the Inspector in her properly fired up, and one story turned into a half dozen, each more fantastical than the last.

"-and then the entire Cargo ship's bow swung around, wedging it between the Bridge and stopping us in our tracks!"

He chuckled, eyes briefly leaving the road to look at the wildly gesturing Witch regaling him with tales and misdeeds of his past self.

"Sounds like the speed boat you were chasing was a decoy." He piped in, practically sensing her stare following the theory.

"Explain." She demanded.

Harry absently chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. "Let's recap." He suggested.

"You were originally in Frankfurt on a tip that Crimson Hare would attempt and steal an African Death Mask, correct? Yet the owner decides to secure the mask and cut the exhibit short by two days, not within the museum, but by placing it inside the Bundes Bank Gold reserve vault, a highly unorthodox decision only made possible because of his close friendship with the Bank Director and seen as a personal favor."

He took a sip of the plastic water bottle and continued.

"Transport was to be arranged the following day under heavy guard, yet the mask, and the gold, was taken during the night. Upon regaining entry into the vault, the employees called on the Polizei and Europol."

Those details were not known by the public. In fact, the news of the mask being stolen only broke a week later, and the Bank was never mentioned.

It had been an intricately planned heist. A large explosive charge had been detonated in an excavated pit of a nearby construction site. At the time it was thought that the source was an unexploded World War two areal bomb, which had been disturbed but not unearthed by the excavation equipment.

The shockwave scrambled the vibration sensors of the vault, allowing a crew to drill into the sublevels from an adjacent U-Bahn tunnel that had been abandoned in the nineteen-seventies Hastily set up conveyors powered by portable generators then whisked the heavy bars into prepositioned rail cars, using a service entrance to reach the surface.

The explosion had the added benefit of shutting down public transit, and it was initially believed power was also affected. A small secondary charge was later deemed responsible, having destroyed an underground substation to the downtown core, including the bank.

"Yes, but what does this have to do with the boat?" she questioned, seemingly frustrated that he had made a connection she didn't. Never mind the fact that as a result of the botched operation, during which she'd assured the Lead inspector and former mentor of its success, Hermione was passed over for promotion for another three months.

Harry refrained from chuckling.

"The speed boat was a decoy," he repeated. "-and you knew that also. But you counted that I'd be on board to make the deception looks real. I can only surmise your plan was to capture me and recover the stolen property through interrogation" He paused, wondering if he should continue. "But the raid on the train yard by your men was erroneous."

Harry glanced at her before returning his focus on the road ahead. "I did use the rail line to transport the loot, but only up to a certain point. You later found five dump trucks abandoned outside of Hanau, no? That made you realize that's how the gold had been moved out of the city, but not where the switch had been made."

"I never told you that." She pointed out, looking at the side of his face. "You didn't?" his brows scrunched in concentration, recalling her version of the event.

"Non." She confirmed.

"Oh. Well, that's not the only part. The gold wasn't on the trucks either."

"What!" she finally screeched, her mood having taken a nosedive at the reminder of her most embarrassing failure.

"The bullion was clearly on the River cargo hauler. The stolen cars and diesel locomotive surfaced near Windekstrasse and stopped on the Deutschherrn rail bridge over the Main river. From there, the bars were dumped into the cargo hold and the freighter took off downstream, eventually cutting off your police boat while a crane hoisted the decoy boat up and onto the deck from the other side."

Her lips were slightly agape. "Think back," he urged. "how low in the water was it sitting? If I recall correctly, the Main is a small tributary to the Rhine. It would not be able to handle a fully loaded vessel such as this unless…"

"The dredging equipment." She swore colorfully. "You planned this job for nine months in advance?"

Harry grinned mischievously. "It would seem so, though perhaps becoming a financial backer to the project is a more apt description. If I recall correctly, not only did the job net me several billion in precious metals but also royalties from the shipping companies using the new deep-water corridor leading to Frankfurt."

"But that must mean you stole the gold the night before and pulled the fleece over Inspector Collet's surveillance team's eyes."

She huffed in annoyance but was pleased their interactions were bearing fruit.

"You're starting to remember." She stated after a minute or so.

"Oui, but not how I expected. I filled in some blanks in your story. I recall facts, but only when they come up in conversation. I can't access them myself without a prompt."

She wanted to pat his leg reassuringly, but stopped her arm in time, instead reaching for the bottle sitting in the center console. Truth be told, Hermione was awful when it came to human interactions.

She'd had a single boyfriend, a smooth talker who'd convinced her to go out for drinks after class at University. They'd lasted two months, right until when she'd walked in him having sex with another woman.

Hermione had hexed him so bad he was admitted to Saint Louis Hospital's magical wing for a week and had to be obliviated afterward. She'd received a stern warning then from the Aurors.

Harry had reminded her of Robert greatly when she'd first encountered him back on the wide concourse platform of Gare Du Nord. He'd been smooth, confident, and instantly tried to flirt with her. No doubt a player, and a man of great wealth. Just imagine, he'd spent close to a billion Deutschmarks just to stea-

"Potter, wait a minute!" she sat up, realizing something. Harry glanced at her, eyebrow raised at the sudden outburst and her use of his last name. She'd been calling him by his first name from almost the very beginning.

"I was just thinking, why would you cover up the real way the gold was moved from the Bundesbank?" she questioned.

"Well, clearly to avoid incriminating the backer who finally got the dredging project going." He answered, looking over his shoulder upon having finished passing a truck. "Ahh, I see. If we find the name of the backer, we can maybe trace the address. Very good, Mademoiselle."

She nodded, oddly happy at his praise. This Harry that she'd come to know was nothing like his former self. The poor humor was still there, but he hadn't once tried to approach her romantically. Perhaps it was simply the situation. After all, he had a lot on his mind. She shook her head, wondering why she was having such strange thoughts all of a sudden before refocusing on their reason for coming here.

"We should proceed with the plan regardless. This will simply be a second option should nothing come of it."

"Agreed" was the response, calm and collect. Focused. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, watching him from the corner of her eye. She shook her head, feeling the fatigue of the long trip set in. A minute later, the Chestnut haired Brunette was fast asleep.

oOo

They arrived in Theoule Sur Mer late in the afternoon and booked two adjacent rooms at a centuries-old hotel. It had old-world charm, with rough-cut stone quarried from a nearby hillside, and terracotta roofing tiles faded from the hot Mediterranean sun.

It was too late to do anything more than settle for the night, so Hermione suggested dinner at the nearby boardwalk restaurant. The offer had surprised her as much as it had him, but Harry did not refuse, though he'd let the question hang between them for a few seconds, making her feel foolish.

The roguish grin he'd flashed her had earned him an icy glare.

Compared to Normandy, it was pleasantly warm here today, so the Europol Inspector had traded her turtle neck sweater for a white button-up shirt. The outfit practically screamed Businesswoman, what with the way her brown locks were tied into a low ponytail.

Harry, by contrast, wore a plain mono-colored t-shirt and faded jeans, hand me downs from Bill, and while not ill-fitting, they did not exactly suit him. Perhaps it was because she'd seen him wearing expensive designer clothes, or formfitting inky black long sleeve shirts and cargo pants.

It wasn't flashy but also didn't hide him. The idea, after all, was for someone to recognize him. The vintage car had originated from somewhere around here. It had no vehicle identification number, no papers, and the license plate was nearly as old as the car itself. Naturally, it also was not listed in any current database. Who only knew where the physical paperwork for the original owner was.

After looking over the small menu, they ordered. The renewed silence was uncomfortable after hours of talking during the trip down, prompting Harry to resume his questions.

"So, your surname is Granger. That's English, is it not?" she tore her gaze away from the sparkling water, nodding. "Yet you reside in France?" he followed up.

"Yes", she stated, switching to English. "I lived in England until I was twelve, and attended Hogwarts, the Wizarding School in Scotland, but switched to Burbaxtons after…" she stopped, swallowing. "I had an accident there. My parents thought it best to pull me from the School shortly thereafter."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

She smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't be. You couldn't have known." Then she tilted her head. "I do wonder where _you_ learned magic, however. Bill was not exaggerating when he mentioned the fight that night on the Terrace. You are quite skilled with a wand."

To be honest, Harry hadn't used a wand for anything other than entertaining Arabelle. Fleur's was…odd. When he'd asked what core it contained she replied; 'Veela hair.'

The wand did not like him much, and to be honest, he did not care for it either.

"Perhaps one of the smaller French schools?" he theorized, ignoring the rare praise from the otherwise closed off Witch. "I do seem to favor the language more than English."

She shook her head. "One of the first things I checked after realizing you were a 'Sorcier' was the Ministry records. No one matching your description or image went to any of the French Academies in the last decade."

He smirked. "I'm not making this venture easy, am I?"

"No, not in the least." She agreed, pursing her lips. "But that's what makes this interesting." To be honest, it felt good to be away from work for a few weeks. Her superiors had not complained, glad the bright young woman was finally taking steps to keep herself from burning out.

Their interactions were more relaxed afterward, and they spoke of small things. It was nice, they both concluded inwardly.

Dinner arrived, and he asked if she wanted to take a stroll along the seawall. She let him sweat for a few moments, to return the favor from before, finally answering; 'Oui'

The sun was setting behind them, skewing and pulling their shadows into long, dark lines on the concrete path. Cyclists and people passed by, similarly enjoying the weather.

"It's wonderful here." She commented, arms locked casually behind her back. "Perhaps I can convince Fleur to move. It would certainly be an incentive for me to visit her more."

"A difficult prospect." He argued, amusement in his tone. "Shell cottage has a lot of charm, and the frequent bad weather, I suspect, is part of it."

She hummed in agreement, her eyes moving from detail to detail, trying to absorb it all. Harry subconsciously led her to a nearby wharf jutting out from the shoreline. It felt like he'd been here before. Perhaps that was a good sign.

oOo

The disguised Metamorph sat, legs crossed, on a delicate-looking metal chair belonging to a charming café that overlooked the water, enjoying a cup of espresso and a rich-looking dessert the French call clafoutis. She had long, straight blonde hair and sported large designer sunglasses that covered her usual eyes, while a sunhat kept most of the men (and a few women, it was France after all) from realizing her striking beauty as they passed.

Of course, if an observant and above all, handsome specimen came along and offered to buy her a drink, then she wouldn't refuse. But this way it wasn't constantly happening.

She concluded that even if nothing came from this trip, it wouldn't have been a complete waste. The miniature vacation had done wonders for her psyche.

She mentally recapped the progress, or lack thereof, so far. Three days she'd been here, primarily conducting surveillance on a posh looking villa in the hills above the small village, which also happened to be the location of her beacon.

By accessing the municipal public records, she'd learned the name of the owner, one Raphael Roache. Not much could be gleaned from those sources other than that the man paid his taxes on time, and there were no police reports under the address or the name. A similar visit to the local police station ended with a befuddled constable telling her there was no record of Raphael Roche' in the national database.

What then was his connection to the late Harry Potter? Every morning he took his breakfast on the open veranda, while the rest of the day was spent doing various inconsequential things, none of them suspicious. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he was a regular if wealthy muggle simply enjoying his retirement years.

Finishing the drink, the slender woman left a five-franc banknote under the saucer and grabbed her small designer handbag, which was in actuality the satchel containing her field kit. She'd return to England tomorrow morning and report back to Headquarters. The old man had pulled some strings with Director Bones to make this happen, though now she began to suspect it had been a favor to her more than anything else.

Out of habit, she scanned the faces of the people that enjoyed the warm evening breeze on the walkway of the seawall. It was fortunate that the sun was at her back and the sunglasses covered a large part of her face, because the sudden look of shock would have instantly alerted him when the English Witch passed the couple's table.

Men would always be men, and like countless others, he too took notice, if only briefly. A slight incline of the head, eyes moving up and down her body, perhaps lingering around the chest a fraction of a second longer, before snapping back to his still speaking partner before she took note.

Only her training kept her from freezing right then and there. Stiletto heels continued to click loudly on the smoothed stone as she passed. Finding a nearby bench to sit down on, she inconspicuously looked their way again, and at the back of his head.

It couldn't be. No, her mind must be playing a horrible trick on her.

But the girl, the very same who'd been at the Greek restaurant in Paris and the Abbey, she is there too! Now shaking, the revelation that Harry bloody Potter was still alive hit her like a freight train.

Had he faked his death? Heck, _how_ had he faked his death? And why was he here, in Théoule-sur-Mer, so close to a tracker he would no doubt be aware of? Did they reside at the villa in the hills, and simply befuddle the muggle? It simply didn't make sense!

With a calming breath, she marshaled her racing thoughts, compartmentalizing the questions she didn't have answers for and focusing on her job. Tonks stood and made for a narrow gap between two buildings, already formulating a quick and dirty game plan. She settled on a tried and true disguise, one that could get her close to the target without drawing much suspicion.

The tall blonde shrunk, while the hair remained the same in order to focus on such a large shift in form. The already large sunglasses slid off a cute button nose, revealing sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles, and green-brown eyes that sparkled like gemstones. The previously skin-tight dress hung like a bag, forcing her to draw the far too big wand and alter it into a pair of faded denim coveralls and sneakers.

In the form of a child, complete with a conjured puppy under her mental control, she had nearly complete freedom of movement that would allow her to make contact and verify what the hell she'd just seen.

She cursed her rotten luck when the table came up empty, but a running child with a dog was nothing out of the ordinary in this setting, and Tonks quickly managed to re-acquire them, strolling down the path, and more surprisingly, hands intertwined.

The apparent familiarity between the two was yet another oddity in this situation. Harry was supposed to be a career thief, yet here he was with an up and coming Europol Agent who'd been hunting him not a month prior.

Had the whole thing simply been an elaborate ruse to throw any interested parties off track? Or was she under the influence of the Imperius?

The Order's admittedly lacking character profile of him hadn't suggested the use of dark magic, or the unforgivable specifically. Also, the way she moved and behaved seemed natural, pointing at interesting things here and there while chatting. Those were pointers often absent from individuals under that curse.

Her puppy 'accidentally' slipped from its collar, rushing towards the two, who'd just sat down at the end of the stone Wharf.

The encounter was conducted for multiple reasons. One, she'd be able to confirm the memory later with the Pensive against the one in the hotel room. Tonks had gotten a very good look at him then, and could use that to ensure that this wasn't some elaborate magical ruse the omnioculars couldn't catch. Obtaining another voice sample would help also.

But the primary reason would be to get another tracker on one of them, which was currently clinging to the dog. Most people went for the ears when petting a K9, and the bug was charmed to be nigh invisible to the naked eye.

She guided the dog to the girl first. This had a better chance of working if she received the tracker, as he'd somehow discovered it during the last attempt.

It startled her, but she didn't shy away, instead going- for a split second, the little girl had an unnatural look to her, with half hooded eyes and a pleased smirk. The innocent mask was back in place a moment later. As expected, the big, floppy ears struck gold again.

She'd managed to tag nearly every one of the recruits in the last few years with this technique during the annual evasion exercise. The task had been simple; Without apparition or any other means of magical transport, the group had to get from one end of London to the other without the instructors catching them.

It was to encourage discreet interactions with the muggles in public. The purebloods were usually easy pickings, not even changing out of the robes that would be common in any magical district.

Tonks was their bloodhound, and should some clever bloke or lass manage the feat and get close, it was up to her to nab them.

The Inspector smiled with genuine surprise as Fido gave her some kisses, tail wagging excitedly.

" _Dagobert, non._ _Je suis désolé_ ", she apologized, practically melting hearts left, right and center.

"It is no problem, little one," she reassured as the dog seemingly lost interest in her and jumped the grinning man next.

Making an effort to get the collar rescued around its neck, the two even helped. Being so close to a conjured animal, she had a small panic attack that they might spot the differences, like McGonagall had when she'd tried the trick with her. The cat animagus had a keen eye and realized that her alter form's arch-nemesis was in fact fake.

Tonks's detention that night had focused on getting her animal transfiguration up to the Tranfiguration Professor's very high standards.

"Thank you" the curly-haired little girl blushed when he flashed his pearly white's at her, handing over the not insubstantial weighing dog.

She ran off clumsily, not used the proportions of this body, but deeming the impromptu operation a smashing success.

oOo

The next morning Harry and Hermione entered the small office of the local newspaper. Paying fifty francs, they purchased a large space in the classifieds. It read;

'Philippe Desrosiers looking to reconnect with

lost family in the Théoule-sur-Mer area.'

They listed the phone number of a cheap cellular phone, purchased at a gas station during the trip down yesterday. The ad wouldn't make it into today's edition, as the old press only ran in the late evening. By tomorrow, however, anyone aware of Harry's alias would know how to reach out to him.

The sole ten-minute task for the day completed left them with a lot of time and little to do. Breakfast at a café in the ville was a good start. Afterward, Harry suggested exploring the quaint little collection of buildings in the hopes that it may help him recall something of importance.

Hermione declined the offer to join him, preferring to spend her time reading a novel she'd brought along. In reality, the book lay untouched on the nightstand, and instead, she gazed out the single pane window towards the sea, wondering what was happening to her highly organized life.

The walk down the Wharf the night before had been pleasant, but it had also scared her. Harry's hand had brushed against hers, and that short, fleeting moment spurred her on just enough to reach out with a single pinky finger, and wrap it around his own.

His smile, upon overcoming his own moment of shock, had been innocent, and she felt relieved and horrified all at once when he threaded his fingers through her own slender ones. It had been so impulsive, so stupid. And yet she hadn't rebuffed him afterward. Even now she wondered why.

With a sigh Hermione rose, deciding that sitting in the simple, yet charming room was a poor way to spend her time in such a beautiful locale. Perhaps visiting that quaint little bookstore would snap her out of it. Although she really needed to stop labeling everything as little here…because simply all of it just…was.

The largest store around was the supermarket, with three whole isles that could be walked from end to end in under half a minute.

Shortly after noon, he knocked on her door, asking if she wanted to have lunch. Figuring she may as well give her eyes a rest, they revisited the restaurant from the night before, delighted to see that they had a separate menu for this time of day.

"Any luck remembering?" she asked, about to dig into her salad. He shrugged, bringing a fry to his waiting lips.

"A few places spoke to me, like the Wharf yesterday. But not really."

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, as did the next few hours while the duo holed themselves up in the Book store. It was muggle of course, but the owner had a few interesting first editions the young Europol Agent was interested in, and a charming reading nook with two heavily used, but comfortable chairs.

Harry made a note to pick one in particular for her when she wasn't looking. He didn't know her birthday yet but figured having a present ahead of time was a smart move. Besides, it wasn't like he was hurting for money. Three thousand francs was quite a sum to carry around.

That evening he asked the grocery store clerk if he knew of any special tourist attractions. They were both quickly tiring of the place and did have a car.

He briefly considered that they go to Paris but didn't want to risk running afoul of anyone that might know him there. Neither of them thought the newspaper ad would provide instant answers, which is why it was going to run for two weeks.

"Your care package." He handed over the brown paper bag with a smirk later that night. She sat on the bed and quickly upended it on the ugly floral patterned sheets. A bottle of white wine came tumbling out, along with a copy of a French tabloid magazine he'd picked up as a joke.

"You must be joking." She snorted, reading the cover and smoldering model posing for the camera. He chuckled, handing over two plain glasses provided with the room and sat down in the corner chair, his own reading literature in hand. It was a comic book of some sort.

"Such a man." she shook her head, accepting the glasses and twisting, yes twisting the seal from the bottle with a shudder. That was never a good thing with Wine.

Harry accepted his glass with thanks and took a sip.

"Oh my" he coughed. "I'd hoped the higher-priced one would be more palatable."

"This is horrendous", she agreed, having tested the contents of her own glass. Pulling his wand, he tried something. The spell had just popped into his head. He sniffed the results and gave it a test sip, pleasantly satisfied. She observed, only having heard a mumbled incantation.

"A bit too late to test it for poison, isn't it?" she teased.

He repeated the charm on the contents of her glass. "Try it now", he urged.

The look of surprise on her face was wonderful to behold. " _Incroyable_ , you have to teach me that charm!"

He laughed.

oOo

The unfamiliar ringtone instantly put them on edge the next day. Harry had suggested going to nearby San Peyre. The small mountain peak overlooking the village held some old ruins that might be fun to explore.

Of course, it wasn't meant to be now. He was driving, so Hermione answered. _"Bonjour?"_ she said cautiously.

Harry only heard her side of the conversation, but when she hung up, Hermione quickly explained.

"It was a man. He stated he was surprised to hear about Philippe being in town." She punched in an address into the cars sat nav unit, and the thing chirped responsively, guiding him to turn around.

"He'd like to meet with you." She finished.

At the next intersection, he pulled the car around.

"Do you think it might be a trap?" Harry asked twenty minutes later, for the first time doubting their security.

She handed him a folded piece of paper. "What's this?"

"A port key. I have one as well. If there's' trouble, it will whisk us back to my apartment in Paris."

He briefly took his eyes off the road, reading what he assumed was the activation phrase written within.

"Your sense of humor needs some work." He finally replied, tucking it away into his shirt's breast pocket.

' _Oublieux'_ he repeated in his head, snorting. The French word for forgetful. She really was a Witch!

Hermione simply smirked, looking out the window as if he'd uttered a humorous comment. Their mystery 'friend', it seemed lived in the hills above town, known for its grandiose villas and incredibly wealthy occupants.

The ornate sign on the narrow street signaled their destination. Harry expertly navigated the rental car down the paved driveway. In the passenger seat, his companion perked up upon their reaching the opulent fountain at the end of the road.

A very familiar Bright Blue Renault Alpine was sitting in the sun. She motioned her head towards it as they got out. "That was the car you drove the night of the…" she didn't know what to call it. Harry's heart was pounding in anticipation. Someone else who knew him, perhaps even longer than a few short weeks, was in that house. He could finally get answers.

They walked towards the door, but he hesitated when the narrow footpath came into view.

"Harry, the entrance is over here." Hermione chastised him lightly. The young man waved her over, going off a hunch and nothing more.

"We should head this way. It feels right for some reason. I don't know why, but it does."

Huffing at his continual disregard for the law, she followed. The path was an ever-moving mix of sun and shade, the leaves of the Tuscan Cypress trees dancing around in the morning breeze. They emerged along the side of a great veranda, marble steps marking the path's end.

The moment Harry laid eyes on the man waiting by the patio table, his vision doubled, and he fell to one knee. Petite arms supported him, and then he felt a much larger, calloused hand rest gently on his shoulder.

"Harry, my son." He helped the boy up and enveloped him in a hug. "It does my heart good to see you alive."

Images, so many images, threatened to overwhelm him. This man was important. He remembered him as 'Father', but also…

"Gaspar LeMarc," He muttered. "You're my father."

oOo

For but a moment after overhearing Harry's whispered words, she forgot how to draw breath. If her ears hadn't deceived her, he had just uttered the name of _the_ most famous thief of the twentieth century. Wide-eyed, she gazed up at the unassuming man. He had silver hair and a kind face, with many laugh lines. It hinted at a life filled with joy.

His pale blue eyes found hers, and she knew. Hermione was in the presence of LeMarc. The LeMarc.

"I feel faint." She said, gently lowering herself on the first stair.

She'd uncovered a family of thieves that had burglarized Europe for the last thirty years. It all made sense now, how someone as young as Harry could be so good at stealing. He'd been trained by _the_ best.

Favoring the wide steps over the comfortable furniture, the older man helped Harry down and then took a seat himself, grunting slightly.

Three decades of pushing your body had taken its toll, no matter how rewarding it may have been.

Harry was still speechless, the inside of his head resembling a mountain of pictures someone had taken a leaf blower to. He simply stared at who he knew was his father.

The butler brought refreshments, not seeming at all surprised at their odd sitting position.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Inspector Granger." Harry's father greeted, brushing his lips over her hand. "Harry spoke highly of you the last time I saw him."

Looking at the man in question she saw a look of realization there.

"Yes," Harry responded, unsure at first. "I visited you, here, on this Terrace, didn't I?"

"Harry's lost his memories." The young Police Woman explained. LeMarc looked back at him, now frowning. "I have surmised as much. Otherwise, he'd have contacted me much sooner. I truly thought him dead."

As heartwarming the reunion was, her work side quickly came out, and she could not deny it any longer. "You've taken some of the most priceless pieces of art Europe has ever known, Monsieur LeMarc." She addressed him, sounding much more composed. "What is to keep me from taking you in right here, right now?"

Harry's eyes widened, hand moving towards where she knew his wand to be. Gaspar, however, stopped him.

"It is true, you have me at a disadvantage." He admitted. "I could have set up this meeting from afar, but when it comes to my son, no price is too high. Should you force the issue, I will come without regret."

"Hermione" Harry growled. "This was not the deal. Leave him out of this."

She glared at him, and at where his hand was resting, wondering if she could beat him on the draw. All of a sudden things seemed very tense. 'It wasn't fair.' She chewed her lip, torn about what to do. In the few weeks they'd known each other, she'd genuinely connected with him. The situation was dreadful. This was Harry's only family. But it was also LeMarc himself! If anyone deserved to be locked up, it was this man. And she would be famous should she bring him through the Entrance of Europol.

'But it would be a hollow victory though' her subconscious argued. He'd only revealed himself for Harry's sake. He was the sole reason Hermione even knew the Face behind the name.

Sighing, her anger evaporated. "I'm sorry Harry. I reacted without thinking."

He relaxed, but it felt like some of the trust they'd built between them during the time together had been lost.

"Let's relocate, shall we? " Their silver-haired host suggested, beginning to pull himself up with the help of the stone handguard. "My back isn't what it used to be."

Harry helped him up and the trio seated themselves on the padded chairs.

"I'm curious about this agreement you two have." Lemarc inquired good-naturedly after retaking his usual spot at the table. Seeing no reason not to tell him, the young Inspector simply did.

"Instead of arresting him, I offered to help Harry try to regain his memories. In exchange, he'll explain how he stole some of the more noteworthy items on his rap sheet." She gave the young thief a quick glace but saw no outward sign of discomfort from him.

"Ah, the greatest prize of all, isn't it Mademoiselle Granger?" he grinned, referring of course to the sweet lure of knowledge itself. It has tempted men and women alike since the dawn of the species, and will so long as humanity walks this Earth, and perhaps even to the stars! Gaspar leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. "Very well, shall we strike a similar deal? I shall regal you with some of my greatest achievements, and in return, you will not arrest me. What do you say?"

Harry's eyes widened, as did Hermione's.

"Deal." She said instantly, reaching across to shake on it, knowing that this was an opportunity of a lifetime.

The day passed pleasantly despite the flood of information they were being hit with. LeMarc kept up his end of the bargain by telling her of the first time he'd taken the Imperial Coronation Egg. It was one of his favorite stories, particularly because no one apart from him knew the theft had even occurred.

"So the Egg, the very one I laid eyes on as a child, is nothing but an imitation, and has been for twenty-some-odd years?" she was in awe, growing more amazed and very concerned as the tale played out.

The way he'd done it couldn't be repeated with today's security systems, but if true, it had been a beautifully executed heist regardless, with no one to this day aware the Egg touring Europe's museums was faux.

LeMarc, amused, shook his head.

"Upon finding out I'd taken it, well my wife was quite upset with me. She made me place it back."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. These confessions; and she couldn't call them anything else, were too much for her. She'd stumbled upon a den of thieves, civilized and well mannered, sure. But thieves regardless. Harry looked pensive. "You've never told me this story before, have you?"

The older man shook his head. "No. I believe it would have made you reckless and attempt to surpass me before you were ready."

To that, he simply inclined his head. "So you believe me ready now?"

The edge of his mouth lifted. "Yes and no," he answered cryptically. "You are a Wizard Harry. Quite gifted from what I've been told. If you were to apply your power and manage to mesh it with what I've taught you-" he tapped his chest with his index finger. –"there would be no equal. But you had it in your head to limit yourself to the same rules Ocean, the Night Fox, and even myself play within."

On the other side of the table, Hermione's eyes widened. Both Ocean's Eleven and the Night Fox were infamous for their deeds, though the two were quite different in the way the operated. If she recalled correctly, Detective Isabel Lahiri was in charge of building the case against the latter, while Daniel Ocean was currently incarcerated, with his known associates scattered like leaves in the wind following the Las Vegas Bellagio heist.

Fascinating.

"What happened to your wife?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious. She hadn't realized that the question might be a sensitive topic until after asking. Thankfully it wasn't.

"She resides in Amsterdam," LeMarc answered with a sigh. "We have not spoken in many years."

"Oh." Was her response. "Is it because of your…" she paused, searching for the right words. "-line of work?"

"Hermione, can I speak to you for a second?" Harry got up and pulled her from her chair by the arm.

"What?" she snapped irritably for the interruption once they were on the other side of the Terrace.

"This isn't a suspect you can just question." He shot back hotly, before adding at a quieter decibel; "Don't treat him like one. Remember, you're only talking to him because he chose to reveal himself to us."

She was a breath away from laying into him, but silently conceded that her behavior could have been better.

"Fine." She ground out before making her way back to the table. LeMarc simply sat there, hands still folded on his stomach, looking slightly amused if anything.

"My apologies, Monsieur LeMarc. I can get carried away when it comes to learning. I did not mean to be rude."

She glanced at Harry as if to say; 'There, happy?'

Gaspar chuckled. "Quite all right, Mademoiselle. Your passion for knowledge is well documented" he dropped the crumb, and as expected she took the bait.

"Documented? Of course, you wouldn't be very good at what you do if you didn't know about Europol and its agents."

"Indeed. Someday I will have to tell you of an encounter with your superior, Commissar Clouseau, in Prague some twenty-five years ago. You remind me greatly of him."

Her eyes lit up in excitement again, and Harry couldn't help but roll his.

"For now though, I will leave you both with this. Writing something on a note, he handed it to her, simply because she was seated closer.

"That address belongs to Harry's home. Though he visits me often, I suspect most of his spare time would have been spent here. It should hopefully help jog his memory."

LeMarc stood, effectively bringing the discussion to an end.

"It was very nice meeting you Hermione. Please do come visit again soon, and bring this one with you when you do."

Harry grinned, hugging his father. "I'll be in touch."

"See that you are. And don't be reckless." He shook his finger at the raven-haired man. "I know you, Harry. Always looking for trouble."

Despite leaving on a high note, the mood in the car quickly turned frosty. Since neither was inclined to address the other, the silence reigned supreme until arriving at the Hotel and throughout packing.

Hermione checked out and handed over the old fashioned keys, the wooden identification tags clicking together.

They were going to Switzerland.

The four-hour trip wasn't long enough for the two to reconcile. Fortunately, the scenery did a wonderful job of distracting them. As they headed north-east, the beautiful southern French Riviera changed into rugged, yet equally stunning Northern Italian countryside.

The roads led them through Nice and Tourin, both cities where it felt like a crime against art and culture to simply drive through without stopping. Hermione wanted to sigh that her first visit to either had been so short, but that would invite questions. And she really didn't want to talk to _him_ right now.

Finding out Harry had been trained by the legendary gentleman thief himself had been more than she'd ever expected from their little collaboration. To be able to meet the man himself had felt her body numb. Even now, hours later, it was hard for her to wrap her head around. She was used to being out of her element, but this; it was almost too much.

And now she was accompanying him to his house. Someone she hardly knew, yet comfortable enough to be around with. Shooting him a subtle sideways glance, Hermione observed him for a few seconds. She certainly could do a lot worse. And her parents had been _hounding_ her to find a boyfriend.

No, it wouldn't work. There was no telling how he would change in the coming months, were he to regain the memories. Would they return to being enemies? She couldn't get attached. Not to him. It was a recipe for disaster.

The car's navigation suite dutifully guided them until finally they departed the main road and headed up a much narrower one. It wound around cute little houses, often clinging to seemingly nothing, so steep was the terrain. Switchbacks were common, and they meant a great gain in elevation.

They almost missed it, an unassuming path wide enough for the car, hidden in-between a thick grove of trees. The property was insular in that no one could see within its boundaries from outside the property. Sloping gently towards the lake, it felt open none the less, with spectacular views into the valley and across the border into France. Some minor landscaping ensured that you never really stood on a direct slope, at least not immediately surrounding the modern-looking abode.

He shut off the engine and got out, stretching the kinks from the long drive. She did much the same. The property looked well kept but lacked personal touches.

A key provided by LeMarc opened the front door. They could have just spelled it open, but that would no doubt have triggered some defensive measures. He didn't mention if they were intent-based.

Turns out the son had similar tastes to his adopted father, the Inspector mused, standing in front of the floor to ceiling window overlooking the lake a few minutes later, arms folded.

The view certainly was stunning, with panoramic vistas of the northern side of Lac Leman, or Lake Geneva as the World knew it. Glancing to the right, Hermione could make out a portion of Lausanne. She imagined the City would be wonderful to gaze upon once the sunset.

Turning away, she studied the rest of the house. Unlike her apartment, this place screamed contemporary, with steel and glass aplenty. The floors were hardwood, with tile in the entry and no doubt the bathrooms, which she hadn't seen yet.

'The house couldn't have been more than a few years old.' She surmised, eyes catching sight of the corner of a bookshelf above. She could hear Harry somewhere to her right and took the opportunity to climb the wide, grandiose spiral stairs.

The upstairs had plush, soft carpet and comfortable looking furniture compared to the stylish pieces down below. But what had drawn her up here were the books. Oh, so many books, reaching over ten feet high, covering every available square inch of wall space that wasn't a door or window. The loft library, as she instantly coined it, even contained a rolling ladder.

Oh, the unfairness of it all. Even with her not insubstantial pay, she could never hope to accumulate such a diverse collection of literature. Then she spotted an entire three-foot-wide shelf that was occupied with comic books and snorted.

Such a boy.

Harry saved his exploration of the top floor for last. "Ahh, that explains where you've been." He couldn't help himself. Seeing how they hadn't spoken since leaving Théoule-sur-Mer, he felt as though he'd somehow lost by addressing her first.

The petite girl was curled up on a rich leather loveseat facing the Lake, an old tome in her hands. There was another seat beside the first but Harry decided to join her, seeing as there was room.

The unexpected warming of relations left her a bit surprised. Neither spoke for a while, simply reading the same pages. Harry quickly learned to quicken his pace when she flipped the first page. They stayed like that for some time, until the ever-present biological need of hunger made its presence known.

Initially, he wasn't sure whose organ had made the noise, but the blush on her face gave it away.

"I'm afraid what little food I kept in the Ice Box has spoiled." He snuck a glance at her, which she picked up on. "Shall we visit Lausanne and find a good restaurant?"

She nodded, slipping a bookmark left on the side table between the pages. Seeing how he was making an effort to reconcile after their little spat she decided to do the same.

"Do you recall any worth investigating?" she asked. He nodded, pleased that little things here and there were coming back.

Offering her his arm he stated. "I think you'll enjoy it. The wine selection at least is a step up from that corner store."

She slipped her arm into his. "I better pick this time, just to be sure."

A moment later they were gone.


	6. Chapter 6

"You requested my presence, Headmaster?" The monotone voice greeted moments after steeping from the rotating stairs. He was careful to keep the tone neutral despite the frequency of the summoning as of late. They were affecting some of the more delicate potions who did not take to the stasis spells as well as the more mundane brews.

"Severus, my apologies for once again calling upon you at such a late hour." There was a deeply entrenched fatigue in his employer's voice that had only grown in the last month. Severus too was feeling the strain, being stretched on all fronts, of which there were many.

Since the boy's death, the Dark Lord's ranks of followers and supporters had grown almost exponentially. Skirmishes between newly branded recruits and the ever more militaristic Auror corps occurred almost daily now. The low-intensity conflict that had simmered for so long was boiling over.

Thankfully, his unique skills meant that the Potions Master was not directly involved in the growing hostilities, though that didn't make his life any less dangerous. As a spy for both the Dark Lord and the man sitting in front of him, every meeting, every tiny scrap of information had to be evaluated and passed on, often in an abbreviated fashion to ensure his continuing survival.

Tonight, it seemed, would be no different.

"What I am about to tell you needs to remain unknown by Voldemort." Dumbledore began. Severus's eyes darted up towards the portraits, only to find every single one of them empty.

"Of course, Headmaster." His cheek twitched once, involuntarily, as the seconds drew out, each punctuated by a very audible long hand traveling across the face of an ornate, and probably very old, clock behind him.

"I have received credible reports that Harry Potter is still alive."

"You are certain?" Snape asked something he could only do with Albus. The Dark Lord would have flayed him for the slight. In response, the man pulled a memory vial from the desk drawer.

"See for yourself." He leaned forward, securely placing the glass in his waiting hand.

A scant few minutes later, Severus pulled himself back. He'd only been teaching for a few years when the girl who'd provided the memory attended Hogwarts, and while she'd been rubbish at potions, her abilities as a field agent were second to none.

But what had been a seemingly mundane follow up on a clear and shut case bore unexpected fruit. Somehow, without a shadow of a doubt, the son of Lily Potter had survived yet again. Severus had been there that night at Mont Saint Michel, and one of only two survivors from the original group sent to subdue him. Potter, as much as he loathed him, begrudgingly had his respect when it came to the fighting arts.

Such talent; and someone had clearly spent the time and effort training him. 'A pity', he thought, when the 'body' had fallen over the edge.

But how could he possibly have survived _that_ curse? It was a subject he intended to think on further, though not now.

Severus gazed up at his employer, snapping out of his seemingly deep thoughts.

"The Dark Lord shall stop at nothing should he become aware of his continued existence," he said aloud, well aware Dumbledore knew this also.

'Why was Potter not hiding in some dirty hole in an equally dirty third world country?' Severus would kill to have the same opportunity. To disappear from this miserable, cold country and start anew, free from homicidal masters and scheming old men. Puppeteers, the lot of them. The fact that he'd been found made Severus's dislike of Potter climb to previously unreached heights.

"I agree. Which is why, for now, we will alert no one, including the others."

This was typical of the old man, Severus thought cynically. He compartmentalized information, to the point where, if he were to die, the Order of the Phoenix would cease to function as an entity entirely.

"He is reasonably safe at the moment, but at risk due to the recklessness of his actions." Albus continued. "If we can find him, then so can Tom Riddle. I will attempt to contact him once more, and soon, with the hope of bringing him under our wing."

Severus briefly wondered how the Headmaster was planning on succeeding, but moved on, seeking an answer to a more important question; "What is my role in this?"

Dumbledore petted his insufferable bird, gazing out over the picturesque grounds.

"Should Voldemort inquire about Auror Tonks's absence in these past few days, you will need to fabricate a plausible cover story. Tell him I sent her to America and impersonate an influential congress member for the upcoming talks."

Severus nodded, seeing the wisdom in the move. Nymphadora had distinguished herself in the last few months, and her movements were followed by the Death Eaters, just like Moody's. Dumbledore's Lieutenants, they were referred to. A silly moniker if you asked him, but it stuck none the less.

The upcoming talks revolved around sending additional bodies to the UK amid the growing security concerns. In order to downplay the seriousness of the situation, these individuals were not being drafted from the American's own law enforcement body or even the small, but potent armed forces branch.

Instead, they were being drawn from the ranks of volunteer retirees, physically fit and with a wealth of experience, funded by proxy through the British ministry. The house of representatives is deeply divided on how to proceed, so the cover seemed logical. Voldemort has few spies in the colonist's ranks, and he would have to accept the information at face value.

"I will comply; however, if and when the boy comes back, I can no longer remain silent on the matter." Snape cautioned.

"Of course." Albus agreed, rising to show his guest to the door. With a slight bow, Severus excused himself, descending the stairs even as they retracted into the floor below. Yet again the game had changed, he thought, quickly navigating the darkened hallways. To what end remains to be seen.

oOo

She woke up feeling secure and warm. The warm part she could understand. After all, she liked sleeping under heavy blankets, even in Summer. But why the other? Lying on her side, she stretched, and her bum pushed against something…odd.

A grunt of pleasure from immediately behind her shattered the sense of peace, doing a better job of fully waking her than a cup of coffee, shower, or even a bucket of ice water ever could.

"Hmm, eager for more, are we?" a sultry voice asked in French, and for the first time, she noticed the arm draped over her. Wide-eyed, she turned towards her 'sleeping companion', who was only just coming to grips with the situation also, cracking open a single eye.

"Oh." He stammered, realization finally dawning. He glanced down, quickly checking their state of dress. Nothing but a thin sheet separated them, meaning they were both very much naked underneath. "I mean…oh." He swallowed hard, not sure what else to say.

Hermione made a similar discovery, to her growing horror.

Now realizing exactly what was pressing against her pert behind, she quickly shuffled away, aghast. Sitting up, combined with the sudden movement of scooting away, raised her heart rate, and in return increased blood pressure. The resultant throbbing in her head matched the rhythmic beat in her chest and elicited a groan of near agony. The not insubstantial pressure threatened to split her skull.

"Oh, mon Dieu. How could this have happened?" she moaned, hands coming up to push against her temples. "We haven't even kissed yet!" The sheet slipped from around her shoulders as hands instinctively came up to press against her temples, face now obscured by wavy locks of brown. The action rewarded the young man quite the view, but despite the more than pleasant distraction, his brain focused on the 'yet' of her last comment, as though she had planned on doing so in the future.

"I think we did a bit more than kissing last night." He gestured towards an incriminating stain of questionable color on the otherwise pristine white sheets. Then she paled.

"No." she half-whispered, half hissed.

"Hold on, let's not make mountains out of molehills." Harry tried to reassure, hoping it would stave off the savage beating he foresaw coming. "I mean, it could be spilled wine." With a great amount of effort, he managed to look past her not insignificant bosom and at the two very empty bottles laying, not standing on the nightstand, before the green orbs snapped back to gaze upon her perfect breasts.

She realized where his eyes were pointing and pulled the sheet up, then looked at the supporting evidence. Still not looking away, he frowned.

"How much of last night do you recall?" he asked, his features losing their distressed quality in favor of a more pensive look.

"I-" she frowned, suddenly mirroring his expression. "We had dinner and came back here. There was a wine cellar and…"

She drew a blank. Urgh, what was going on with her? Even in University, she'd never overindulged like this. And at almost twenty-two no less. It was as though she'd just made up, in one night, for all those times during school when her dorm mates drank themselves into a stupor while she studied in her room under a silencing charm.

Looking at the spot, she wiggled her hips a bit, trying to gauge if she was sore. Nothing came of it.

"You think it's-?"

Harry shrugged, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Well, I'm no healer, but there's probably a spe-"

"Just don't even finish that sentence!" she hissed, wanting to shout at him, but knowing her body would likely punish her for it. Fully wrapping the sheet around her, she spotted the bathroom and made a break for it, wand in hand.

"Don't even think about coming in here as so long as I am, you understand."

He muttered an affirmative, too busy fighting to recall his own set of memories of the night before to consider getting frisky with the Inspector that had hunted him for the last three years. They'd certainly had too much, that much was clear from the evidence littered around the bedroom.

Trundling into the nearby closet, he selected a modern but not overly fancy three-piece suit and tossed it on the bed. As an afterthought, he pulled another dress shirt and some pants for his guest and hung them on the bathroom door handle.

"Hermione, I left you some clothes on the other side of the door. Just spell them to size."

He doubted she'd had the chance to unpack any of her belongings from the suitcase. In fact, their luggage was likely still in the trunk of the car sitting outside.

The water was already running but he could make out a faint 'Merci'

Fully dressed, he moved into the hall and towards the kitchen. The first order of business was coffee, and then perhaps a filling breakfast. He wasn't very skilled in the Kitchen, but hopefully, she'd be less irritable with a full stomach.

The conversations to come would be unpleasant no doubt.

oOo

Her mind raced as the water cascaded down her body. With two fingers she gently exerted pressure on the outside of her skin, just below the navel. Nothing felt out of place, she concluded. That reassured her, but not much. She'd woken naked up in man's bed. Not a stranger's, but they'd only known each other for a short amount of time.

And he was a thief no less. A criminal! Oh, how humiliating this was. He must think of her as a loose woman. Stepping out of the shower, she quickly dried off. Just like he'd said, the clothes were hanging on the outside of the frosted glass door. A few alterations and the shirt didn't look like a pillowcase on her. Giving up on finding her underwear as a bad job she sought out her host, going commando in his clothes.

Yes, she concluded. There was no coming back from this.

But instead of gloating or teasing her as she'd anticipated, an assortment of fresh baked goods, jams and spreads awaited her, along with a glass of juice and a small vial. She seated herself without a word, and seconds later the utensils followed, playfully floating by and making two loops around her before settling.

A ghost of a smirk graced her fair features for but a split second at the attempt to lighten the mood, before the mask was back in place. Even now, years after graduating, she still loved even the most simple of magics. The thought, and amusement, made her realize that she'd isolated herself from its charms, perhaps for too long.

In short, it felt good to be around Harry, not having to hide her gift, and seeing him use his. It was an unexpected revelation, brought on by something as simple as a flying fork and knife.

They ate in silence but it was clear the whole thing didn't sit well with him either.

"Mademoiselle Granger" he started once they were done, surprising her by the formal tone and honorifics. "I'm sorry about, well what happened. It was not my intention to-"pursing his lips, he sought the right words to convey. Nothing came of it.

"Let's just-" he shook his head. "Let's just forget about it."

She smiled weakly, inwardly agreeing about not wanting to discuss how they could have possibly found themselves in this situation. The evening had been pleasant, and she admitted that her guard may have slipped. Probably after the second glass of that fabulous Château Margaux. Her eyes had nearly fallen out of their sockets upon spotting the dusty label, back in the bedroom.

"Isn't that how we got into this mess?" she finally quipped, pleased that the delay had made him even slightly uncomfortable.

He returned the smile with a grin. "Perhaps, but it is an elegant solution, non?"

"What is in the vial?" she asked next, looking at it suspiciously. The color was unfamiliar to her. He coughed, choking on his own beverage. "Ahh, the cabinet labeled it as a sort of morning-after brew, with a hangover tonic mixed in.

"Of course." She muttered, slamming it back without much hesitation. Oh, it was vile. The remaining juice chased it down, and with it the worst of the taste.

Leave it to the playboy thief to have just this sort of potion in his house. That…that man whore!

"Thanks for the meal." She muttered, her previously recovering mood all but gone again, hopping off the barstool and towards the guestroom.

oOo

"Harry, did you know you own a lot of books about Parcel Magic?" Hermione shouted down from the top floor almost two hours later, hopefully, loud enough to reach his ears.

She'd found herself in the small library upstairs again in an attempt to cheer herself up, having re-dressing in her clothes. Upon finishing yesterday's tome she'd browsed, until coming across an unusual title.

' _Serpents of the Tongue. Do's and don'ts when conversing with Snakes.'_

Several similar tomes sat next to that one, including a very old and fragile looking spellbook. Gingerly plucking it from its resting place she cracked open the hardcover, wincing at the distressed sound the spine made. Despite its age, there was a table of contents, she noted.

She finally managed to tear herself away from its pages an hour later, having read the brief intro and a half dozen of the more unique curses and charms. She was also stewing a bit. So that's how he'd done it, and the reason why her beloved van's rear doors needed replacing.

Huffing in frustration she headed down the steps, intent on finding her 'host'.

The dishes had long ago sorted themselves out in the sink, and he wasn't in any of the rooms on the main floor. That left the basement. Harry had mentioned a wine cellar yesterday, from which he'd liberated the two bottles that led to her awkward awakening not two hours before.

Stepping inside, she gave the medium-sized room a once over. Whatever stonemason had done the work knew his trade well. The seams likely couldn't hold a single sheet of paper. Cast iron racks, slender but sturdy, lined the walls, filled with dusty bottles. Though the room was as new as the house above it, many of these looked like they'd been in storage for decades.

'What were the odds that all of this was stolen?', she wondered, shaking her head.

"Harry?" she finally located him, pointing his wand at a blank section of stonework, while the other hand was pressed, palm down, on the rugged stone. "Why are you touching that wall?"

He turned, puzzled. "I think…this might be a door."

She gave it a quick once over, noting that the gaps around some of the stones were slightly uneven. "If it is, there must be a mechanism to open it."

"unless…" she added, lost in thought. Harry, who'd been tugging on various things to see if something moved, stopped.

"Unless?" he repeated, trying not to sound impatient.

"A Password. It requires a password."

Like the Manuscript?"

"Most likely. And I think I know how it's locked." She couldn't help but smirk at having figured it out before him. Despite being reserved, there was a keen intelligence behind those green eyes, one she had pitted itself against her own and won countless times. She wondered, if they'd been given the opportunity, they would have been friends in school.

Harry stepped towards her, focusing on her like a large safari cat would on potential prey. Involuntary goosebumps grew on her arms. She told herself it was from the cool cellar and nothing else.

"You have a collection of books about Parcel Magic." Let's see how many clues it would take to solve it.

Not many it seemed, as he got that 'ah, of course' look, before turning and hissing at the wall in a way that made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

The stones ground against one another, much like the bricks that lead to Diagon Alley in London, forming an archway to a secret room.

Grinning at her in that typical Harry way, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through.

"Thanks for the tip." He quipped, looking around at what could only be described as a mansion within the basement of a modern European Home.

"Bwahhh?" his guest managed, eyes immediately drawn to the chandelier she'd mentioned during the trip from Shell Cottage to Théoule-sur-Mer, before roving over a dozen or so priceless Greek and Roman sculptures lining either side of the wide entryway.

Forgotten was the fact that he was a parcel mouth, and that she wanted to chew him out for placing a language-specific locking charm on her Van.

Warm light streamed through the incredibly tall, narrow windows, illuminating the polished floor and refracting, bathing the grandiose room in yellow and white.

Artificial sunlight, it had to be.

"Merde Harry, I take it back! The second you regain your memory I'm putting the cuffs on you. You- You scoundrel! Some of these pieces…" she tapered off, distracted by a painting she could have sworn was in one of her cultural history textbooks.

"-This is a Matisse. I'm sure of it. And it hasn't been seen since before the Second World War!" she gasped. Spinning around the Europol Inspector found him standing there, equally amazed at the sheer amount of loot the room contained.

"You found one of the lost Nazi art stashes, didn't you? The ones which were hidden away in the Salt Mines."

Refocusing on her, he shrugged, fighting to keep the cat who just caught the canary grin off his face.

"I would be inclined to agree, but there is no way to be certain." He tried with an even tone. And just like that, the roles reversed, and there was a lioness looking at… well, a Hare.

"You know, don't you?"

"The Bex Salt mines." He offered, pleased that another small detail returned to him upon laying eyes on some of his greatest prizes. He remembered the rush of excitement and euphoria when he'd broken through the faux wall at the end of the narrow tunnel that had stood strong for nearly sixty-five years.

Stale, dry air that smelt of old things. Valuable things.

She swore up a storm, recalling that they'd passed within a few kilometers of the centuries-old mine on their way here. There was even a sign visible from the main road!

"So they smuggled some of it into Neutral Switzerland during the occupation as well", Hermione concluded, referring of course to the Germans.

Eyes roaming once more they were next drawn to the sparkling burgundy body of a car that practically made her tingle with excitement.

"Potter, if I ever let you get me drunk enough to repeat what may or may not have happened last night, then know this..."

He swallowed, not sure where this was going.

She sauntered up to what she knew to be a 1937 Mercedes-Benz 540 K Spezial Roadster, hips swaying seductively, her fingertips brushing against the flawless paint. She turned, staring him down.

"You better make love to me in the seat of this car, and I better remember it."

Dumbstruck and more than a bit distracted, he could only agree, with a sneaking suspicion that she was a hardcore classic car enthusiast. But more importantly, the brazen comment made him feel as though their strange, difficult to describe relationship had just been cemented into place.

Hermione walked away, face crimson, scarcely believing what she'd just said. The embarrassment faded quickly though, replaced by awe and wonder at the exquisite pieces revealing themselves further into the complex. Harry looked at the rare vehicle with curiosity, trying to recall if he'd ever utilized the car in such a manner.

Coming up with no epiphany, he settled on thanking the previous owner with a bottle from his cellar if that particular situation actually came to pass. It was the least he could do considering he'd taken the thing off his hands.

By the time the impromptu tour had ended in the main chamber, Hermione was feeling an odd combination of emotions. Anger, excitement, and though she was loathe to admit it, arousal.

Harry had, in a few short years, managed to accumulate the largest, most diverse collection of art and artifacts from many eras of recorded human history she'd ever seen.

It was comparable to the British Museum in both quantity and significance and by her very rough estimate, worth several hundred million at least. Her keen eyes also spotted a few of the runes etched into the walls that signified this space was expanded, and the items within likely held preservation charms.

It was a shame really that magical solutions could not be applied to all art. She'd seen firsthand what time can do to canvas, stone, and other mediums used by artists long dead.

Eventually, the pair found themselves back in the first room, coming from another way. That left one last unexplored passage.

The last remaining puzzle piece of the thief called the Crimson Hare clicked into place when it revealed itself to be a workshop. Long benches filled with soldering equipment, electronic components, and even a few blueprints could be made out, along with presentation tables that held scale models of rooms, buildings, and even a cityscape.

Upon closer inspection she determined them to be transfigured from green molding sand, which is traditionally used for casting bronze.

Clever.

Harry had moved along, zeroing in on the glistening red on the other end of the gymnasium hall sized room. Through his mind's eye, he could see flashes of flame, and hear the roar of the fire as gloved hands molded the glowing hot glass with metal and pliers. His gaze wandered to the cold furnace.

Next to it were two nearly identical sculptures, all the same, ruby red color.

They were Hares.

oOo

The time had come to pick the low hanging fruit that is Britannia. The demise of the boy, who'd so cowardly hidden on the continent, had set into motion events that would culminate in his Victory today. Books would be written, and his reign would outlast even them.

He was immortal, and nothing would stop him, least of all that senile old fool Dumbledore. As the pale man glided into the grand reception hall of the Ministry, the guards immediately took note. He could smell their fear. Their panic, as realization dawned in their pathetically limited minds that the end was finally at hand.

The first curse leaped away before they'd even finished drawing wands, and already their numbers had dwindled by one.

Around him the fireplaces erupted in green flame, spilling his trusted followers into the spacious arrival area. Amongst them was an unwilling participant, armed not with a wand, but a Basket Hilted Sword. Soon the deluge of black-robed combatants overwhelmed the pitiful sheep, culling them to the last.

Voldemort calmly made his way towards the Minister's Offices, casually ending life like a normal person would shout out greetings to a fellow co-worker in the morning.

Ah, they'd barred the doors. The two red-robed lawmen met gruesome ends, their mangled carcasses serving to knock on the wide double doors. A second later those slabs of wood vanished inward in a mass of high-speed splinters. Spells ripped past, but his wand deflected what few whose aim had been true.

Fools, still going with stunners and other non-lethal magic. They were all of them, below him.

A concussive wave blew the remaining bodyguards over like rag dolls. A brief glimpse of his target from behind the desk told him where to direct his attention to next. The heavy piece of wood split cleanly in half, both ends crashing into the walls of the ridiculously decorated office.

"Your time, Minister-" he grinned demonically, gazing down at the sad excuse of a wizard. "Is up."

A flash of green and the deed was done. Britain had fallen into anarchy.

oOo

It took some days for the news to reach the unlikely companions almost a thousand kilometers away in the Alps, but hardly impacted them in the slightest. Something had changed after that night they both could scarcely remember.

One could almost call it flirting, and it wasn't just the host who was guilty of this. Though not nearly as well-endowed as her Half Veela friend, what assets Hermione possessed were wielded with devastating efficiency.

She embraced her connection to Paris's title as the fashion hub of the world by teasing the Hare with scandalous nightgowns, lacy delicates underneath revealing blouses, and of course her own flawless body, on display in a way that promoted taste over brazenness, subtle but clear to her Host that every choice was meant to elicit a response.

The first morning she'd managed to make him shoot a Cheerio from his nose as he sat in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. Though not as effective, he reciprocated by forgoing a shirt in the morning following a glass blowing session, pale skin glistening with sweat. But his real strength lay with his seemingly harmless interactions that in actuality were quite insidious.

The innocent touches when they worked, and small, thoughtful gestures like bringing her lunch while she read, culminated to change her opinion of him yet again. His culinary skills were a big appeal, but somehow she'd been thinking nonstop about how wonderful that tongue would feel over her skin.

The conclusion; She was in trouble.

The strange dance between them nearly drew to its anticipated conclusion on the fifth day following yet another roller coaster of facts, this time from the Odessa case, which had been dissected in such detail that before her lay a notebook filled with what amounted to testimony. A written admission of guilt. It was odd how one person could make her feel such conflicting emotions all at once.

Afterward, he'd offered to show her the art of glass sculpting. It sounded sexier than it was. The heat, combined with physically molding the colored glass to the mind's eye, was taxing work, to say the least. By the end of the first hour, her hair was soaked with sweat and matted to her forehead and neck. She quickly realized that the skill required to manipulate the vicious, glowing substance to such a fine degree without ever resorting to magic was awe-inspiring.

Their project, born from nothing but a series of dull pieces of round, colored cullet, slowly morphed into a delicate rose, with faint green stem and vibrant red pedals. Due to its fragile nature, he elected to place an impervious charm on it, but it was hers to keep.

By the time they'd made it back to the bathroom in the upper level of the house, the two were connected at the mouth and tearing at each other's clothes.

"Hmmmmm" she moaned in his ear as he attacked her slender, and slightly salty neck with his mouth. Their earlier _workout_ had only served to spur him on, her taste intoxicating. Hermione's fingers slid through his damp hair and lightly clawed at his strong back, while his large, powerful hands were busy kneading the daylights out of her buttocks.

Finally devoid of clothes, they clumsily found their way under the showerhead. The water made their bodies slide over and against one another, driving them both nearly insane with need.

He nearly voided her request of taking her in the Merc, but the sudden banging on the front door was hard to ignore.

Harry swore cutely in French and stole another kiss before disengaging himself from her, leaving her gasping for breath, her normally curly hair wet, and pulled back flat in a way he'd never forget.

Drying off quickly, Harry threw on a pair of pants and stormed to the door, wand in hand. Opening up, he found himself looking at a pink-haired woman in robes, sucking on a lollipop.

She raked her eyes up and down his exposed chest with a pleased look.

"Hey, stud." She purred, pulling the sweet from between her plump, pink lips with a pop.

oOo

A bit disappointed that he hadn't rejoined her, Hermione dressed in one of his shirts, unaltered, and nothing else. Call it punishment for not soaping her up.

In the kitchen she found him leaning against the counter with a mighty frown and folded arms, as well as a woman cradling a cup of tea. Harry's body language suggested he wasn't happy, which was quite understandable.

"Oh, my bad Harry." The stranger apologized upon spotting the gorgeous, damp haired girl round the corner. "Didn't mean to interrupt you like that."

All three knew she didn't mean it.

"You're a Witch." The Chestnut haired girl said matter-of-factly through simple observation of her garments. "Do you know Harry?" there was a slight hint of unease in her voice.

Tonks thought of exploiting it to the fullest for a second by playing the heartbroken girlfriend card, and perhaps bulging her stomach out to what would no doubt match his eyes, but she'd already given herself away with the half-arsed apology. To be honest the Metamorph hadn't expected _this_.

Not only was Harry a stud, but his taste in Women left her nodding internally in appreciation. Going after the girl who wanted to lock him up? That took balls. Perhaps they were up for some fun later, if the opportunity presented itself.

Merlin knew she could use the distraction, after the week she's been through.

"Not directly," she finally answered. "-but you could say we're aware of him."

Tonks grinned, not giving anything of importance away. 'Damn it Dumbledore, you're beginning to rub off on me.'

"You were watching, the night I fell into the sea?" Harry deduced though he had his suspicions the moment he'd picked up on her accent. The description Bill Weasley supplied matched her to a tee.

"Bingo." She winked, taking a sip of her tea. "Not sure how you did it kid, but for a while there the whole world thought you dead."

His frown deepened. "Yet here you are." He answered dryly.

"Oh don't be like that. What happened to the teasing, playful guy from before?"

He bit his tongue, not wanting to admit to his memory loss by asking what she was talking about. Confirming that she'd been at the site of his defeat had been an educated guess. Calculated, but still only a guess. His spotty memory was a handicap Harry would prefer to keep unknown.

"Voldemort tried to kill me, that's what happened. Forgive me for being a little paranoid, especially considering you somehow found me again. Care to explain?"

She flinched ever so slightly at the mention of his name but recovered quickly.

"A lady never tells." She wagged her index finger a few times.

With a sigh, he moved on.

"Why are you here then?" he didn't quite snap, but the tone was getting frosty. His 'friend?' moved behind him and reassuringly started rubbing his shoulder, but also managed to conceal her body enough to pull the wand from the chest pocket on the dress shirt without notice.

"Relax" she responded, hands clearly held away in a 'woah, let's not get jumpy' manner. "I'm just playing messenger." Pointing at her coat, Harry nodded his ok and she pulled a wax-sealed envelope from one of the pockets, placing it on the marble counter. With a graceful move, she extracted herself from the barstool and headed for the door.

She wasn't feeling the vibe right now, and as entertaining as this situation was, she did have pressing matters to attend to elsewhere.

"Thanks for the tea." She winked at the pair and opened the door. Clear of the house's wards she disappeared, likely by portkey, as that was the only way to do so.

oOo

The easygoing mood shattered like so much delicate glass after her departure. They couldn't stay here. Not if they could be so easily found. Once more Harry cursed his inability to see the full picture. He was the horse wearing the blinders, and somewhere out there in that big arena called Europe was a man with a whip and holding the reigns.

The woman, Tonks, had also thoroughly destroyed the mood. Both quickly got dressed and Hermione vanished into the guest bedroom to pack. Harry looked down the Basement, and for added measure changed the Parsel code word to something other than 'open'.

The letter lay untouched in the kitchen, only stuffed in at the last moment, and after making sure it held no tracking charms or other nasty surprises.

Five short minutes later and they were off, this time in the large, black German estate they'd found parked in the garage.

Their destination; unknown.

oOo

Two days later found the pair in a cozy little hotel room in the center of Turin, with a tiled porch arguably bigger than the bedroom itself. For convenience and security, they'd opted for only one room. That was the official reason. After the week at Lausanne, they were well and truly passed being just acquaintances. It was the fragile beginnings of a relationship, unorthodox but exciting, and neither quite knew how to approach it.

They didn't talk about the heated moment of weakness they'd shared back at the house, but thankfully neither was shying away from the other either.

Sleeping with someone and yet not 'sleeping' with them was an odd experience, Harry concluded. At first, the presence of another in his bed was, while not uncomfortable, still strange enough to keep him up late into the night, usually spent watching her peaceful, angelic face in the dull orange glow of the nearby streetlight through the thin fabric of the curtains.

Harry was immensely grateful for her help but wondered if she wasn't safer back in Paris, alone. The thought, while logical, warred with the feelings he'd developed for her over the last week. Perhaps it was because of the amnesia. The feeling of hopelessness; lost and in the dark. Her help, and companionship, meant a great deal to him.

This Detective, supposedly his greatest adversary up until a few short months ago, he concluded, had wormed her way into his heart.

Their game of cat and mouse had evolved, and the stakes had risen, in more ways than one.

He thought back to when they'd opened the letter.

' _Salutations Mr. Potter,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. It comes as a relief that I am still able to reach you with this form of communication after learning of your encounter with Tom Riddle.'_

The name meant nothing to him but he sensed it was a vital piece of information, and seemingly freely given. As for the method of communication, it almost sounded like the man was insinuating that he would have been able to reach out to him, even had he been dead. The thought made them wonder just how sane Monsieur Dumbledore was. Cautious, they both read on, eager to get to the heart of the matter.

' _While normally I would caution anyone who attracts the Dark Lord's attention, I feel your case warrants further warnings. Be on guard. Voldemort's information network reaches far. Much farther than you may think.'_

Subtle. It basically says; 'if I can find you, so can he.'

' _As I'm sure you're aware, the situation in Britain is quite dire. You may wonder why I'm bringing this to your attention, but I fear nothing more can be revealed through ink and parchment_ _other_ _than this; Whether you wish it or not, this conflict will find you sooner or later. Despite my_ _best_ _efforts_ _,_ _your_ _, no,_ _our_ _common_ _enemy_ _was_ _able to locate_ _you_ _first through the use of a very peculiar book, one of two if I recall correctly. Its twin rests on this very desk as I pen this missive_ _._

 _Should you choose to accept, I once again extend this invitation to meet with me and discuss your past, present, and future._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Albus Dumbledore'_

An address was written on the back of the parchment. Madrid, Spain.

Harry swore for multiple reasons. One, he'd been too distracted during his week with the lovely Miss Granger to even think about the mysterious book. Second, the Headmaster had just baited the hook, so to speak, and he was the Fish.

They'd known about the first letter through LeMarc, but not any specifics. Clearly, the English knew how to contact him during his stay in Paris. According to Gaspar, Dumbledore had attempted to meet in person, and that he was using Harry's identity to force his compliance. Unfortunately, the specifics were lost to them, as the original letter was not one of the items that had made the journey from Mont Saint Michel to the Beach at Shell cottage on his person.

While the powerful Politician had changed his tune slightly, it seemed that meeting him was still very much something the old man wished.

Pulling the little black book from its resting place he flipped open the cover, armed with a cheap ballpoint pen.

'Are there more volumes of you, penned by your author?'

There was no response at first. Then, a single word.

' _Yes.'_

He closed his eyes. It seems they would be traveling to Spain.

 **A/N: I feel as though the H/HR relationship is moving quickly in this chapter, with just a hint of something in the last one, and very rapid progression happening now. I'm leaning heavily on the Bourne movies as inspiration, and the romance there seemed equally choppy and fast paced. Perhaps stressful situations makes people connect? I don't know.**

 **As usual, please point out spelling, grammar, and sentence structure. I always feel that I can improve, and help is always appreciated. Also, feel free to drop a review. cheers,**


	7. Chapter 7

**What's this, another chapter? Yes, it is. I'm eager to continue this story. I enjoy writing it, and my muse won't allow me to transfer that energy towards my other works. Believe me, I've tried. There should be some good stuff in here. Please let me know what you think.**

They lasted two days, cooped up in the small room. It was impressive really, considering how tempting it was to explore the city. But one could only endure so much of a fifteen square meter room before snapping at the other occupant.

So they visited Museums, the Royal Palace, and other places Hermione suggested. The trips were amusing, and they talked of hypotheticals such as what pieces he'd take, and how, while she'd suggest improvements to the security systems to prevent his sticky fingers from ever reaching said items.

They both enjoyed the mental exercises, strolling along, hands intertwined. It almost seemed like a real date.

Eventually, though, Harry's thoughts once again strayed to her involvement in this ever-evolving, dangerously shrouded situation. Yes, she was a Witch. But these weren't mere non-magiques they were dealing with. Did she know how to fight? Would knowledge and wit be enough to persevere against fanatical Wizards and Witches who wouldn't hesitate to snuff her beautiful, brilliant spark out without hesitation?

He needed to know if Hermione could defend herself. He needed to know if he was up to the task of defending both her and himself! A single third-hand account of a fight he ultimately lost was not a good reference. So far they'd avoided any precarious situations, but how long could this peace last if Dumbledore and his Order had already picked up their trail once more?

Images of a regal older woman, with graying hair, flashed behind his retinas as they walked out of an ice cream shop, causing him to seek the rough stone façade and lean into it heavily. Hermione looked at him with worry.

"What is it Harry?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you not feeling well?"

He patted her hand with his free one, reassuring her. Another piece it seems has broken loose. And it was called Liese Warrington.

oOo

He was truthful with her that night in the hotel room, first admitting that he'd considered distancing himself from her. Her hand found his and held on tight. She said nothing and at the same time everything with that one gesture. Reassuring her, Harry went on to lay out his reasons for wanting to visit his old Mentor. A mentor of pain.

This would not be pleasant, but necessary in his opinion.

And so, after three relatively good days in the province of Piedmont, they drove North. There had been no sign of the Woman who'd given him the letter, or any other Magicals potentially keeping tabs on them.

A thorough check of their clothing before departing Lausanne had come up with a single tracker on her White shirt, and another on a set of robes LeMarc had given him shortly before leaving to Switzerland.

Hermione at first had marveled at how similar the design and functionality of the trackers were to Europol's R&D models, before Harry reminded her that she'd last worn the White Button up shirt in Theoule sur Mer on their first day there.

A rough picture of how they'd been rediscovered formed. The Woman had presumably encountered them while in the village, likely by chance while checking up on Harry's belongings.

It was plausible, and with the ridiculous notion that they could be found through some mysterious unknown method dispelled, allowed them relax a little. Reasonably sure they couldn't be followed they'd departed.

It took nearly as long as the coast to coast drive nearly two weeks prior, but once they'd cleared the Alps the big, thirsty AMG tuned V8 was unleashed on the smooth, well designed German Roads.

Harry grinned when the sign advising motorists to use discretion when navigating this stretch of limitless Autobahn corridor appeared and accelerated.

His passenger rolled her eyes but smiled. She didn't mind this car despite its age, or lack thereof. It certainly beat their rental, which she'd happily returned in Lausanne.

They made excellent time, arriving in Stuttgart midafternoon. Harry had used a payphone in Switzerland to call ahead. The last thing he needed was a to upset a retired dueling champion for arriving unannounced.

Turns out she was in a foul mood regardless. Her latest pupil, in her own words, was a useless tit who quote on quote; 'couldn't distinguish which end of the fucking wand to point at the other side of the dueling pit.'

He recalled her having a bit of a Potty mouth, what with being half American and all.

"Hey kid. Long time no see." she greeted in English, having finished dressing down the nameless youngster, who was just storming out, billowing cloak and all.

Harry pushed off the wall he'd leaned against, and embraced the tall, slender woman. "Good to see you, Liese."

He saw a faint but tired smile, though her eyes flitted between him and his companion.

"Ah, yes. Liese, meet the lovely Mademoiselle Granger." Harry stated, stepping aside.

"A pleasure" Hermione offered her hand, which the older woman accepted.

"Likewise." she smirked, her easygoing demeaner completely at odds with Hermione's stiff one.

With introductions taken care of, the German woman walked over to a small circular metal table, inviting them to join her.

"I'll admit, I was surprised when Harry contacted me so suddenly." she pulled a filtered cigarette from her dueling leathers, and lit the tip with an old-fashioned butane lighter.

"We apologize for the sudden intrusion." the inspector said, analyzing her host, and finding a few similarities between her and the Hare. The way she spoke and carried herself spoke of supreme confidence. A seasoned veteran.

"Don't sweat it." she muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke above her. "Harry and I go way back. He did the right thing by coming to me. Kid can fight, but analysis was never his thing. He'd take three times as long to get you into shape as I would."

"You trained him then?"

"Pretty much." she answered, looking over at the third member of their conversation, who had his arms crossed with an amused expression. "Though he's probably rusty."

"A bold statement." Harry quipped. "Bold, but incorrect."

"Oh yeah?"

Hermione blinked, watching her stub out the mostly unused cigarette in a glass ashtray and head towards the stone rink.

"All right Potter, front and center!" she ascended the stone platform, having already shed her light coat from meeting them on the street. It was raining outside, and despite being almost July now, not very warm.

Hermione relocated also, settling into an empty seat within the stands, both eager and nervous to witness the impromptu duel. 'So, this was the person who'd molded Harry into the man who'd dueled Voldemort one on one.' she thought.

oOo

He looked at ease in jeans and a white t-shirt, wand pointing at the floor, Liese noted from her platform. In a way, she was grateful he was here. She'd completely lost it with her last appointment, and badly needed to let off some steam. Even better, she knew he could handle himself, so Liese could go all out.

They moved at the same time, going for completely different maneuvers. Harry had always favored direct fire and forget spells, but the true mark of an expert duelist was his or her manipulation of objects, whether conjured, transfigured or otherwise.

The trio of bone shatterers slammed into a thick metal plate that materialized in front of her, already on the move. While the construct itself was nothing interesting, the speed at which it had appeared impressed the lone spectator.

Trying to cut or redirect was out of the question, so her opponent turned it into fine powder, leaving the material the same out of ease. His shield was up a second later, blocking two massive chains she'd sent as follow up, hidden by the slab of metal.

They ricocheted off the silvery blue barrier, landing on opposite sides of the narrow path connecting the pit with twin thuds that shook the floor. Half the metal powder, not even fully settled around him, raced back her way, shifting form into a dozen round cannon balls, intentionally staggered, forcing her to throw up a shield rather than vanish them all at once. Unlike his, the silvery surface was angled. It flared less, and conserved power.

Liese knew he'd outlast her in a straight up power comparison, but clearly knew how to make what reserves she had stretch and strategize for the long haul.

The chains she'd left around turned into snakes. He'd have to deal with them before renewing his offense, allowing her to crank up the pressure.

She nearly messed up the simple Bludgeoner when her former student overcame the mental command of the scaly reptilians by hissing commands at them.

'Shit, the kid had been holding out on her', she grinned, watching him bat the spell aside casually. Her own creations were now closing on her rather than him, forcing Liese to reverse the spell whilst dodging a flurry of well-aimed stunners.

At least he had the common decency to stick to non-harmful spells. What a gentleman.

Harry waited for her to undo the animal transfiguration on the chains and split them into a dozen thick ropes, all gunning for her. She responded with a wasteful but completely necessary incendio.

'Damn, the kid was trying to bleed her dry!'

Extending the spell a bit more, it easily reached the other side. The duelist used the red and orange flames as cover for a quick and dirty spell chain, moving to the very edge of the platform to avoid his own counter fire, the curses hitting exactly where she'd stood a moment ago.

The fire petered out a moment later, allowing a clear visual to the other platform. It was empty, but that was not uncommon with Harry.

'Always going for the parlor tricks' she thought, perhaps with a hint of annoyance. Liese had to admit, he'd gotten rather good at this sort of magic. But there were always ways around it. Thick, white smoke belched from her wand, racing across the narrow path linking the two circular platforms.

Meanwhile, she was still dodging red and transparent curse fire, and occasionally returning the favor to keep things interesting.

The smoke though never made it all the way to the other side, lingering just beyond the rim of his platform. She tapped her head as well, figuring the reduced visibility would make things just as hard for him. A pair of conjured wolves raced away on either side.

He'd better not be able to dissuade them like he had with the Snakes. Kid was a damn Parcel Mouth! Who'd have thought?

A pained yelp from within the smoky haze told her one of the pups was out of play, but that still left- ah, there was the second one. A bang and the unmistakable splatter of meat hitting the floor announced its demise. The volley of curses intensified momentarily, forcing her to duck and weave.

Had he been bitten? She grinned, getting into it. Liese followed up with a powerful jet of water shot through where she knew the platform to be. He countered with fire, sending great billowing clouds of steam into the air, mixing with the smoke and reducing visibility even further.

Looks like it was going to be one of those duels. Vision wasn't everything. She summoned the cannonballs from earlier and morphed them into solid cover. His spells would now be fired at a greater speed, at the expense of power, hoping to tag her before she had the chance to dodge.

Sending a swarm of Hornets, she weighed her options. Mage sight would cut through the fog, but spell fire tended to flare, and she'd bet money he'd fire off a Lumos maxima and burn out her retinas if he suspected she was using it.

Liese would have done the same. That spell was only ever meant to observe the finely woven nets of wards. Briefly flicking it on, she saw him, radiating magic like an old metal stove did heat.

He was directing his wand like a flamethrower to deal with the insects. She used the distraction and fired a stunner, making sure to squeeze her eyes shut before the magic leaped from her wand.

Damn, he'd moved, likely not realizing it had been fired until it missed his calf by a few inches. Three return stunners twanged off the steel she'd hunkered behind.

Using some of the debris, she created a few dozen hard rubber balls, golf ball-sized, and fired them with the force of a muggle gun. A few tagged him before the shield was back up.

She flicked off the mage sight again, wondered what his plan was. They'd been reduced to taking potshots at each other. Sure, it was a much-needed breather, but to win the pace needed to change.

She was just about to attempt removing the mist and smoke when a rope dropped onto her wand arm from directly above. It instantly coiled around her slender arm as it sought to immobilize the limb, wrapping its other end around her metal pillar twice. Swearing, she flicked the wand into her other hand as even more ropes descended.

Damn it, they'd been floated over the mess obscuring her vision by means of the building's ventilation system and a feather-light charm. Shit, she was in trouble. The ropes slid around her midriff, shoulder and one leg, finding each other and the first one. She managed to cut one with her off-hand but got no further as her wand was ripped from her palm by a disarming charm.

"Fuck!" she swore as her back thumped hard against her cover.

"Yield?" a voice asked from the other side.

She sighed. "Yield."

The ropes didn't slacken, but she heard his footsteps.

"My my, what do we have here?" he purred, emerging from the mist and walking around her. The memories he'd regained in Turin not only covered dueling but something slightly more personal as well.

With the fog still firmly in place, Harry decided to tease his former mentor a little, for old time's sake. His hands roamed over her form, searching for rope ends. After all, why use magic when this was so much more satisfying.

"Damn it, kid." She breathed heavily, pretending not to care what his hands were up to. "Just cut them already."

She inhaled his scent as Harry leaned around her, his neck close to her mouth. She considered giving him a little love nibble but figured the girl he was with might take offense. Although, maybe it would get her blood boiling for the next match.

Yes, that way she'd get a better fight out of her. Harry was undoing the knot at the back when she bit, then sucked on his earlobe. Slightly surprised, he eased up to look at her.

"Just something to remember me by," she winked. The ropes fell away and he cleared the fog of battle with several slow, sweeping motions above his head.

oOo

Hermoine was just beginning to wonder what they were up to when the thick shroud finally lifted, revealing them standing close to one another.

Harry gave Liese her wand back and she vanished the metal pillar that proved to be her undoing. The older woman tucking it away before straightening out her clothes and stepping off the stone ring towards the stands.

"Not bad." She conceded with a disdainful sniff, not liking the bitter taste of defeat. But at least it was to someone she'd trained personally, so in a way, it was a win, for her instructor side at least. "Let's get dinner and afterward I'll test your girl. Hopefully, she doesn't fight as dirty as you just did."

Hermione remained quiet but colored slightly, while the former dueling champion grinned at the reaction.

If she'd noticed his mark, the Inspector didn't comment on it. They hit up a small little pub close by and ate hearty German fare. How the older woman retained her impressive physique, eating food like that all the time baffled both of them. A tall glass of beer washed it all down and was followed up by a mighty burp.

The second duel was much more straight forward. Liese initially held back and even offered a few corrections, falling into instructor mode before even finishing her evaluation.

Hermione, after the first few attacks had said nothing, improving her stance and dropping verbalization completely following the first bit of input.

"Spells move quickly but not as fast as your voice." Liese had shouted back, intentionally deflecting a stunner into the stands where Harry was sitting, for which he vocally complained. The protective wards around the pit were inactive.

"Don't give your opponent any advanced warning."

Her repertoire of spells was impressive and casting speed good, but like Harry, she favored spells and curses over transfiguration during combat. A bit rough, but even a few days of working with Liese would yield substantial improvements.

The older woman eventually clipped her in the side with a body bind, ending the fight. She looked pleased, not at her result, but with the potential of her new student.

Hermione didn't seem to agree. She remained polite, but it was apparent she was embarrassed at how easily she'd been subdued. Hopefully, by tomorrow, she'd warm up. The lesson here was never to humiliate, but simply to gauge skill level.

After a quick shower, Hermione excused herself, retiring for the night. Her gaze lingered on Harry for a second following the announcement, who was sitting at the small table with a beer, flipping through the Manuscript.

oOo

Sometime later and with a fresh Warsteiner in hand, Liese found her former star pupil sitting in the darkened stands, overlooking the dueling arena. The only illumination came from a single, cold white light above the exit clear across the expansive space, just bright enough to not trip over yourself.

She took a seat next to him and cracked the cap with a lighter. Harry, apart from making eye contact with her as she took her seat, didn't otherwise acknowledge her. They sat there in the near darkness, taking the occasional sip of beer from their respective bottles.

"You look well." he finally said. "Just like I remember you."

She just stared ahead, looking over the simple life she'd made for herself. The dueling classes didn't pay that well, but occasionally she'd land a rich client. Sadly those usually frustrated her the most. Sure, the money was good, but the students usually didn't have a lick of either skill or talent, and with huge, easily bruised Egos to boot.

'Like that useless little shit from earlier this morning.' She grimaced, realizing that she'd likely lost out on a good amount of money thanks to her temper.

As if he was reading her mind, Harry produced a thick envelope and placed it on the narrow ledge in front of the row they were in.

"I know what you're going to say, so just let me say my piece first. Most of that-" Harry gestured to the bundle. "will probably go towards patching up this joint when you're done with her."

Liese snorted. 'Oh Harry, you really are a sweet kid', she thought, shaking her head gently. Back when he'd found out about the rink's monetary problems, a mysterious duffel bag filled with cash found its way into these halls. She had, of course, dropped it off at a nearby Polizeistation, despite knowing the how's and why's, and given him a stern lecture about stealing afterward.

But he'd been relentless, cutting her out of the process by directly paying off the group she'd borrowed the money from. He also soundly thrashed the place and a dozen of the Loan Shark's men when the guy tried to take advantage of a seemingly naïve sixteen-year-old boy, as she later found out.

That was the only reason she'd let it slide. That lender was a greasy little shit who deserved everything that happened to him, and then some.

Of course, now, she knew that thieving is simply what he did. It was a bad career choice because, in her opinion, Harry trusted far too easily. He was the infamous Crimson Hare, wanted worldwide by police and dangerous individuals alike. Very few people knew his identity, but Liese hadn't thought he was crazy enough to entrust that secret to someone like Hermione Granger.

She wondered how their relationship had evolved to this point. It was clear they liked each other, though his teasing earlier was something she hadn't expected.

To be honest, the phone call earlier today surprised her. Though friendly, the two didn't exactly part on the best terms. Years of practice duels had forged a relationship unlike any she'd had before, or since. At first it was strictly professional, but as he matured, their banter changed. It turned into teasing, flirting, and despite her better judgment, a very odd romance.

The time came when she had nothing left to teach him, at least not on the dueling circuit. By then Harry had turned into a fine young man. Funny, smart and compassionate, if a little naive. But who wasn't at that age? So very different from the boys who graffitied her metal shutters or hung out in groups late into the night.

But the fantasy had to end. She couldn't give him what he wanted; if he even knew what that something was at that point. His first love; an infatuation really, couldn't possibly last. The passion would eventually turn to regret, for both of them.

Their separation occurred on a night much like this one. Cold, rainy, and washed away with a lot of empty beer bottles.

"It's good you've kept your skills sharp. With the amount of Marks your father dropped to get you to this level, it'd be a shame to let them dull."

"I fear I'll need them soon." He admitted. The half-empty bottle lost another quarter of its volume. "How long do you think you'll need to get her close to our level?"

Liese never really worried about Harry being able to take care of himself before, but the way he'd phrased the question concerned her. For now, though, she wouldn't press. Harry would, usually, confess when he was ready.

She shrugged. "If I clear my schedule and she continues to respond to input like tonight? Perhaps a week."

"That long? I'll need to double what's laying there at least."

The older woman sighed. "Harry, you know I'd help you for free."

"Yeah, I know." He patted her leg, then gave her a reassuring squeeze. "But a service is a service, and I will happily pay to have you kick her tight little bum into shape."

Liese laughed. "She _is_ quite the looker. You could do much worse."

He grinned, but it felt a bit weird talking about girls with her. "Just make sure you wear her out enough that she won't take it out on me during the night." Harry pleaded, knowing she'd somehow blame him for the rough handling over the coming days.

The German-American Witch laughed out loud as he headed to bed.

After his own shower, Harry, clad in boxers, slipped under the sheets of the narrow twin bed and found his curly-haired Police Woman asleep on her side, back facing him.

Gently snaking his arm between her waist and arm, he pulled himself up close. The scent of the shampoo she favored flooded his olfactory sense, relaxing him. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

oOo

Harry awoke alone the next morning, confused once again at the unfamiliar room. By the third day in the hotel in Turin, he'd gotten used to the shape and outline of that room, only to travel here and begin the process all over again. Exhaling deeply, he found his previously worn clothes and hit them with a generic cleaning charm.

It wouldn't be as good as a real wash, but the next best thing short of one. He'd have to ask Liese if she'd finally managed to replace the stacking Washer Dryer combo, otherwise, it was going to mean a trip down to the Laundromat on Schwabstrasse.

Finding no one in the common areas, he glanced out one of the many square glass panes overlooking the converted warehouse's main floor.

They'd started early it seemed. Figuring they'll be a while yet, he whipped up a quick breakfast consisting of fruit, yogurt and some pastries hidden in a breadbox, while listening to the snaps, bangs and fizzling of spells. Occasionally Liese's voice would reach the Kitchen, shouting instructions. He polished off his plate and left their portions under a stasis charm before departing.

On his way out Harry waived, but received no response, not with the ferocity of the curses being traded. No matter, the neighborhood was still much the same, and no guide was necessary. Harry treated himself to a cup of coffee at a rediscovered café, penning a quick note to his father with his current whereabouts and expected itinerary for the next seven to ten days. Folded and tucked into an envelope, he dropped the letter into a bright yellow mailbox marked 'Deutsche Post' and went on with his morning, buying groceries and a newspaper.

By the time he returned, his girls were done with the duel and meal, sitting at the table and going over some theory. Or perhaps it was a recap of the fight? Liese had liked dissecting his attacks, responses, and subsequent defeats in excruciating detail to come up with effective counters and strategies.

He'd never liked the theory part of the lessons, preferring to adapt on the fly.

Dropping the brown paper bag on the counter, the provisions sorted themselves with a silent command and wave of his wand. Harry pulled up a chair, figuring he'd listen to her critiques and get an idea of her areas of improvement when she'd eventually ask him to step in and help.

Liese had her own preferred fighting style that suited her physique, relatively modest core size and countless other variables. She could imitate the crude way that your average Death Eaters would favor, but Harry would be much better for that situation, able to overpower every spell while Liese would observe Hermione from up close and fine-tune her.

But that would be for later. As of right now, his old mentor wasn't even aware of the terrorist group that had them looking over their shoulders at every shadow. In due time he'd inform her, but it would be a few more days yet.

"Morning Harry." she greeted in that Americanized English. He returned the greeting to them both in his Surrey accent, something she always liked.

"Thanks for the food, stud." She winked at him, getting a huff from her student, who was furiously scribbling down notes with a cheap muggle pen.

Harry chuckled, reminded of the Witch who'd delivered the letter at his home by the greeting.

"How long did this one last?" he asked, referring to the duel. Hermione shot him a dirty look, possibly misinterpreting his poor choice of wording as a reflection of her performance, before returning her attention to the note pad. Harry shook his head in amusement. Fighting wasn't something you could apply academia to, at least not in the usual sense.

"Harry, unlike yourself Fraulein Granger is a model student." Liese suddenly turned on him, coming to the same conclusion regarding the comment.

"Perceptive, adaptive;" she listed off on her fingers. "She certainly grasps concepts much quicker than you ever did. Tell me, how many times did you get thrown into the padded wall behind the platform for improper footwork?"

Harry growled, flipping open the paper he'd purchased, effectively ending the ribbing, or at least trying too.

"In fact, I'd wager that by the time I'm done with her, she'll be able to wipe the floor with you."

The raven-haired man lowered the paper, intrigued. "What's the wager?"

Liese grinned in a feral like way.

"Now wait just one moment." Hermione protested, the notes all but forgotten.

"The dueling studio." She offered. Harry barked a laugh. "How is that an incentive? I'd be liable for all the maintenance you've neglected to do."

She gave him a look that said 'use your head', making him reconsider the offer. If he did win, then Harry would own the building. And he certainly wouldn't charge her rent for its use. Heck, he'd probably dump a ton of money into renovations, and maybe even give her a monthly stipend.

In hindsight, it was actually a pretty big deal. She was risking her independence, possibly giving up the dream she'd worked so hard for. Liese Warrington did not take charity. But she trusted Harry.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Merde Harry!" Hermione slammed a hand on the table. "You don't even know what she might want from you!"

"It's not what I want." Liese shrugged, one leg dangling over the other, bobbing up and down slightly. "It's your win. You dictate the terms."

Her head whipped around. "You'd risk your livelihood like that? For me? Without so much as an incentive to make the wager worth it?"

Never mind the fact that he'd won against her new teacher yesterday, and in a way Hermione had no way of knowing thanks to all that smoke and steam. The battle was more heard than seen towards the end.

"I have faith in you, and my teaching abilities." The older woman shrugged. "You remind me of myself girly. I'll teach you a few tricks this one;" she raised her chin at Harry "has no idea how to handle."

Harry's intense look made her shiver, but it was just too much fun to tease them.

"So, what will you demand as a wager?" she asked Hermione. The girl was wide-eyed, completely out of her depth. The gears turned quickly though, and the Police Inspector took on a pensive sort of demeanor.

"You'll give up thieving." She said, finding his eyes. "I win, you give up stealing."

Harry sat frozen in place, green eyes still locked with her chocolate brown ones. Liese whistled slowly and pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from her vest pocket, tapping the Schachtel until the orange filter of a cigarette popped out.

Damn, this just got serious. Sure, she loved her work, and the hours weren't bad. But the upkeep was a bitch and she hadn't traveled in ages. Having a landlord wouldn't be such a bad deal, she conceded, inwardly amused. Especially one where she'd be able to substitute rent with using her body.

Ohh, the idea was enough to get her motor running. The helpless (and quite attractive) business owner, struggling to make end's meat, and the attractive, young landlord, offering 'alternative' methods of payment. Images of them rolling around on the dueling pit flashed in her head before she shook her head clear of them.

Liese reigned herself in, hard. The girl had proposed something with far bigger consequences than her dirty little fantasy thought up on a whim.

To Harry, thieving was his calling. She hadn't understood it back then but did now. It was his reason for existing. More than just a way to earn a living. He loved the thrill, the excitement. The danger.

She'd have to work the poor girl to the bone; because he wasn't going to hold back with this fight. Liese paled, realizing he'd want to spar with her as well. Damn it, why did she open her big mouth?

"Deal." He shook her hand, all semblance of humor gone. He was taking her seriously. Harry always did when it came to the important stuff.

Excusing himself, Harry headed for the 'firing range', as Liese had coined it. With features like moving practice dummies and a fortified back wall, it could take a beating and be back up and operational after a few simple repair charms.

He'd test that concept in the next few minutes.

The two ladies gave up on their review session when the booms became increasingly louder and the pen rolled off the plastic table from the vibrations.

Dear God, what had she done!

oOo

Harry grumbled as he made his way down the street, once again shunned from the Dueling Hall. At first, they'd been sneaky about it, sweetly asking him to run errands, and showing cleavage, which he didn't mind. The thief had caught on quick though, and soon after Liese dropped all pretense and simply ordered him out.

After a few days of this Harry actually sought out the local (by local he meant National) dueling circuit, and thoroughly thrashed anyone he came up against. Most were rank amateurs, but it beat hitting practice dummies and allowed him to try a few things without Hermione or Liese catching on.

And so, just as Liese said, a week later the Crimson Hare and the Inspector tasked to apprehend him faced off. Liese had activated the secondary ward stones meant to bleed off magical energy and was officiating. She hoped Harry would spring for a Pensieve if he won, even if it was a cheap one. The memory would be one she'd surely enjoy re-watching.

"Contestants ready?" she looked at them both, filled with determination and drive. "Keep it clean, and no dark stuff. Go!"

No sooner had she said the last word did the spells erupt. It was pretty routine stuff at first, with the usual assortment of colors crisscrossing, until Hermione fired a lumos maxima, not at him but off to the side, while throwing up a solid barrier that would shield her from the worst of the light, while still maintaining a direct line of sight, and more importantly, line of fire to her opponent.

Harry used his off hand to try and shield his eyes enough to see what she'd throw at him, and opted for a mage shield a second later. Sure enough between the stunners and blugeners, there was a colorless leg locker and what he assumed was a petrificus totalus, aimed low, towards where he'd presumably have fallen if the locker connected.

His dueling shield would have been a poor choice indeed.

Keeping up the translucent bubble, a swarm of conjured insects raced around his shield, before splitting into two. She torched almost all of them during the approach, but the other half piled onto the ball of light, allowing him to finally see. With a reductor, the wall she'd erected violently came apart, while hopefully peppering her little in the process.

Predictably, her shield was up by the time he'd refocused on her. The first bludgoner was followed by another, then two more, each with more power than the last. The magic pounded her shield, which held, but only just.

Staggering backward slightly, Hermione used her first bit of transfiguration, firing broken bricks that littered the area around her platform and morphing them into sharp metal spikes. Feeling a bit playful, he conjured a magnet, and they smacked into the oversized novelty horseshoe shape with a twang.

Then the entire thing was simply banished across the hall. Instead of trying to stop the heavy mass and waste valuable strength, Hermione simply hit the deck, opting to go with a simple rope attack. A wide area cutter took care of them but allowed her time to regain her footing.

Both took a second to catch their respective breaths, and think about the next strategy.

oOo

"Focus on their movements more!" Liese shouted. "Yes, that was good."

Sweat poured down her face in a way she didn't care for. It was hard, on par with some of the most advanced magics her instructors at Burbaxtons had taught her. With but a thought, the humanoid shape crouching on the platform advanced on her instructor. An easily spotted cutter shot from her wand, and the girl, and the construct moved in sync.

"Remember not to emulate them. You're expected to fire curses, dodge and transfigure to help them reach the other side relatively unharmed."

Hermione had no idea how all of this was possible when she could barely control one.

Letting herself sink into the connection further, she took control of the Simulacrum completely, seeing exactly what it saw, controlling its movements. This was easier.

Liese fired a few more shots, getting progressively faster and more accurate with regards to how much distance remained. Hermione had almost reached her, marveling at the speed and lack of strain she felt, jumping, twisting and contorting to avoid the attacks.

A ruby red stunner raced past her, not even close to hitting, but in the back of her head, she knew that meant something. A second later, there was darkness.

"Want to tell me what you did there?" the older woman looked down at her, frowning.

Hermione sat up, rubbing the goose egg on the back of her head. 'Must have hit it on the way down', she thought with a wince.

"I neglected my real body, letting my guard down."

"Good, at least I didn't have to coax it out of you." Holding out a hand, Liese helped her student up. "You're advancing at a very respectable pace, but this has to be nipped in the bud before you let it happen again. Next time at least cast a mage shield to hunker behind when fully taking over your puppet."

Hermione nodded, still a bit dazed.

oOo

She'd come a long way in a short amount of time since that day, not even a week ago. The abundant rubble littering the arena congealed into three even piles, morphing, shaping, and turning into three exact copies of her.

Even from afar, the look of surprise on his face was evident. He didn't know about this magic then. Good.

Hermione ordered them to move, like a well-choreographed muggle rugby team, while opening up with spells, conjured animals, and ropes to keep him from targeting them.

Of course, Harry knew the dangers of letting anything get to close during a duel, and decluttered his already neat surroundings further by transfiguring daggers, which skillfully found her eagles and hounds. Shield deflections of her own spells nearly took out one of her constructs, while another was effectively stalled by a large snake he was verbally commanding.

The number of pieces and entities made this like a very odd and fast-paced game of chess. The blasting curse beheaded the snake from afar, something she took pride in. Her accuracy had increased leaps and bounds under Liese's tutelage.

Two of the Simulacrums approached from as wide an angle as possible, now armed with the daggers Harry had so graciously provided, plucked from her dead animal's carcasses. The third moved up the center, covered by spellfire.

It was the furthest back but Harry focused on it first, hitting it with a number of differently angled cutters. It ducked under the horizontal one, but lost its leg from the vertical follow up. A bone shatterer to the head returned it to the rubble it emerged from.

She hissed, renewing her efforts to keep him occupied. Chains and spears forced him to shield. The dagger-wielding copies flung their weapons at him, with one managing to graze the back of a calf.

She rearmed them with ornate steel spears, one of which he managed to deflect before finding its intended recipient.

Relentlessly they advanced, dodging the occasional curse he managed to spare before Hermione refocused his attention on her.

Fifteen feet. Ten. Then five. The one with the spear jabbed at him expertly, and to Hermione's surprise, he actually grabbed it, letting the lethal end slip under his armpit. With a point-blank banisher, it flew away, leaving the spear with him. He quickly used the pole end and struck the other Simulacrum in the temple, to no effect.

Before he could process what was happening a rope from the real Hermione tagged his shoulder, instantly coiling around the limb underneath and his torso.

Ducking both the spear and another set of ropes, he jabbed the wand into the ground. The pressure wave blew her next attack off course, and the spear-wielding copy clean into the stands, demolishing them, and it.

Clear of any immediate threats, he cranked up the pressure on his opponent. He needed her good and distracted for this to work.

oOo

Liese wanted so badly to shout out a warning that she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. But she couldn't! Any sort of interference was not only forbidden but would disrespect both of them. Even while struggling with the ropes and her sole remaining Simulacrum bearing down on him, Harry managed to summon, then transfigure the heavy magnet from earlier.

The move came as such a surprise that Hermione momentarily lost her connection with the body double. The mass of metal impacted with a lot of force, but slow enough that she didn't fly off the platform outright. Instantly it had her, like hard, unyielding playdoh, pinning her arms to her side but allowing her to retain her wand.

Ignoring how she was stuck in a cocoon, unable to move, the Investigator focused on her link, fully taking over control. She was no longer helplessly laying on the platform behind her. She was bearing down on her opponent, close enough that she could see the whites of his eyes and the small but growing amount of fear there.

oOo

He was in trouble. Yes, he'd incapacitated the real Hermione, and dispatched several of her copies, but there was one last one, and the still tightening rope had firmly bound his arm behind his back by this point.

Where the previous versions he'd cut down had a vacant look to them, this one was now filled with cunning and determination. Whatever this magic was, it was amazing to behold. Imagine what he could have accomplished with copies of himself! There would be no need to use crews when working a job, no risk of an informant busting them because the authorities managed to get leverage.

You could be a one-man team. Curse his former mentor for withholding something so useful!

A close-range cutter, fresh on his mind, missed as the thing nimbly rolled under it. He wouldn't have time for a second. So he dropped the wand.

The closed fisted swing was deflected and he planted a knee into her slender midsection. But because this was not a real body, she…it, didn't double over, instead twisting herself, the other arms elbow connecting solidly with his head.

Harry staggered back but clumsily managed to block a roundhouse kick with his only good arm. The thing hit harder than any real person, wouldn't tire, and could take a tremendous amount of punishment before crumbling.

Delivering a front kick to the torso, he bought himself a few feet, enough to summon his wand again and deliver a weak cutter, not to the threat, but his own arm. The small victory over his partial bindings was short-lived as she came back at him once more, swatting the wand from his grasp before picking him up by the dueling leathers and slamming his increasingly battered body into the unyielding stone floor.

Harry managed to get his arms up to avoid the first blow, but she focused on his ribs when the face no longer presented a good target.

Harry gasped as one of them gave under her assault, but couldn't let up. If he destroyed her last Simulacrum then it would be over. But the probability of that happening was decreasing by the second. The concussive blast to clear his platform had sapped him greatly. One last push then. There was no way he'd give up thieving!

Deflecting another devastatingly hard punch into the ground, he grabbed her arm, then used his legs to push her over his prone form.

The wand once more slapped into his palm; summoned silently, and Harry fired an overpowered banisher that couldn't be avoided. Hermione's last weapon impacted the cinder block wall, shattering it.

With a pained grunt, Harry got his feet underneath him, tightly holding his side with one hand.

"Yield?" he shouted, though it was a stretch.

Hermione, who was still encased, opened her eyes when the link was severed, watching him get back up from her limited field of view, hand pressed against his side. She was actually craning her neck, seeing him upside down as her head was pointing towards the other platform.

"Yield." She reluctantly replied, and from her place on the side, Liese closed her eyes. The even pressure around her ebbed as the substance melted away, not even staining her clothes. Hermione got up and found her, still standing where she had been the whole time.

"Liese…" moisture was gathering at the edge of her eyes as the reality of the situation set in. "-I'm so sorry."

"Don't sweat it, girl; you put up a hell of a fight." She sniffed, coming to terms with the fact that this place was no longer hers. "It's not your fault this guy-" she jerked a thumb over at Harry, who'd managed to sit down on the shallow steps, looking to be in considerable pain "-doesn't know when to quit."

Harry grunted in protest but knew better than to open his big trap right now. He felt like he'd won the battle but lost the war.

oOo

The Hare grimaced after downing a cap full of Skelegrow, sitting on the couch in the upstairs mezzanine area. While the training compound was in dire need of repair, Liese prided herself in her substantial stock of potions. While the German ministry offered free health care, it came with a cumbersome and potentially incriminating amount of questions, and she didn't fancy paying a ton of back taxes on her little side business, which was run under the table, so to speak.

Besides, brewing came easy to her, and a damn sight less expensive than buying off the shelf. After all, her late mother had been a Healer. She also knew a healthy amount of spells that could mend, as well as hurt.

Hermione was sitting in a chair, looking like someone had kicked her Puppy.

Liese shot the injured man a look, which he returned with matched favor. "What?" he hissed, both in pain and annoyance. They'd taken their sweet time in getting him upstairs, and no offer of a numbing charm had been extended.

"Don't take that tone with me, Harry. You're the reason she's in the dumps like this. Go and do something about it."

"Pardon?" he ground his teeth, scarcely believing his ears. "Whose _'verruckte idee_ ' was it to wager their livelihood in the first place? You engineered this entire mess, not I."

Liese cuffed him not so lightly on the back of the head and was rewarded with an assorted variety of French curses.

"Well, now that we've established that you can take care of yourselves, mind clueing me in on the why?" she asked, hoping to lift the oppressive mood in the room.

Glancing up, Hermione's eyes met Harry's, while Liese quietly observed them both.

"Very well." He said, knowing she'd reprimand him for what he was about to say next. "What do you know of Voldemort?"

"The English Dark Lord? The one who just took over the UK?" whatever she'd expected, it did not involve the Infamous dark lord. Perhaps a disgruntled Wizard or Witch Harry had stolen from, looking to settle a score, but this?"

"Oui" he answered. "I was ambushed by him, over a month ago. We fought, and I lost." No need to tell her exactly how he'd lost. She'd just needlessly worry.

"Jesus Harry, what the hell is wrong with you?" she nearly shouted. "I didn't think you were suicidal! What the hell were you thinking?"

The younger man shrugged, with a bit of a smirk. "Believe me, it was not my intention to cross wands with him."

Obviously, Liese thought, frowning before looking at the still seated Hermione. "How are you involved in all of this?" she asked next.

Again, a look between the two of them, and a faint nod from Harry.

"I'm helping Harry regain his memories."

"His memories?" she repeated, stunned.

"Following the encounter, I happened upon him by chance while visiting a friend that had sheltered him. He knows very little of his past."

Liese swore, walking to a seldom opened cabinet and liberating a bottle of Schnapps. Pulling the cork off with her teeth, she forwent a shot glass and took a healthy pull.

"All right, you kids better explain from the start." She snapped, slamming the bottle down on the table next to Granger.

 **A/N: So, more of Harry's past reveals itself. Liese is fun to write about. I imagine her like a younger, less proper McGonagall whose interest in Harry goes perhaps a bit farther than it ought to have. That being said, she is not a love interest of his. I don't like the idea of Harem stories.**

 **Hermione's** **Simulacrum** **then. The closest thing I can relate them to is Shadow clones from Naruto, but directly controlled through her mind. It would be an incredibly difficult technique to master, but incredibly useful in all sorts of situations, i.e subterfuge, evasion, direct combat, etc.**


	8. Chapter 8

"Here, catch."

Liese caught the keys with a musical jingle, confusion etched across her features. Harry, dressed in dress pants and collared shirt for the upcoming journey, just grinned.

"Your new Company car", he supplied, jerking his head at the black Mercedes parked in the modest courtyard attached to the property.

They'd already said their goodbyes at the door, and she'd seen them out to wave them off.

"Why the hell would I need a car, Harry?" she asked warily, but also looking at the German saloon appreciatively. "I live in the middle of town."

"Well, here's the thing…" he started, choosing to drop this last little nugget right before leaving, and for good reason. He knew that she positively hated being told what to do.

"You're going to be busy traveling for the next month or so, while some very professional tradesmen overhaul my new training school."

"Excuse me?" she growled, wand suddenly in the palm of her hand. Potter continued to smile, but subtly slid his arm around Granger, who simply stood there, eyebrow raised, as if to say; 'you dare use me as a human shield?'

"I figured you could use the break, and perhaps re-familiarize yourself with the European dueling circuit. Personally, it felt as though you'd gotten rusty."

"Why you cheeky brat" she had to reign herself in, lest she hex him in front of a muggle _Taxi Fahrer_ , who'd just pulled up outside the open gates to the courtyard.

Unperturbed, he continued. "Of course you'll be receiving an allowance for meals and lodging, as well as a modest stipend for personal expenditures."

Beside him, Granger couldn't help but feel amused, though it didn't show.

"Before you ask, it's in the back of the car. Discrete briefcase. Locking and tracking charmed for your convenience."

"Harry, don't think for a second that this is going to fly wi-"

"I'll have someone contact you in a few weeks to sort out the transfer of the building." He cut her off, and the cab behind them honked one, signaling the driver's annoyance.

"See you soon Teach" he waved, opening the door and practically shoving Hermione into the back seat."

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she protested. Harry quickly followed, displacing her to the other side of the back seat with a gentle, but firm hip check.

"Vamanos!" he said with urgency to the cabbie driver, who was a serious German man and likely didn't understand Spanish. The intent and the death glare from the woman still outside the cab was evident, and he didn't want someone to dent the body of his Taxi.

Speeding off, Harry laughed with glee. It was always fun teasing his old mentor. And as far as goodbyes went, this one beat their last one by a country mile.

"Adresse?" the driver rumbled, all business.

"Ah, Haubtbahnhoff bitte." The young man said, distracted by the less than pleased look he was getting from the Police Woman sitting next to him.

"Such a child" she muttered, before looking out the window, lost in thought. The two weeks they'd spent here were amongst her favorite so far, but Hermione was beginning to fret about how long she'd been absent from work.

The Commissar had given her a carte blanche following the incident at Mont Saint Michel, but it had been over a month now. How much longer could she afford to help Harry?

Her ward quickly picked up on her more subdued mood, and quickly reigned himself in, though still far more chipper than his traveling companion.

The trip to the Stuttgarter Haubtbahnhoff was spent in silence, gazing at the not quite familiar sights of a foreign country. Hermione had never been to Germany before, but from what she'd seen, they seemed like a very well organized bunch. The streets looked much more modern, and certainly better maintained, then the French ones she was used to.

At their destination, Harry handed the driver a fifty and told him to keep the change. With no visible luggage to speak off, the pair quickly made their way across to the ticketing booth. They were fortunate. The next train to Madrid hadn't yet arrived, but would very shortly. The Fraulein hastily accepted payment and urged them to make their way to platform four. The train would depart, with or without them.

Twenty minutes later found them on a gleaming white Inter City Express train, sitting opposite one another. Harry had a content look to him, with a hint of a smile showing.

"What has you in such good spirits?" she asked, hoping the tone didn't seem too harsh. Things were still a bit cool between them following the duel, but she'd made progress getting over it. Mainly, it was the fact that he was still allowed to go about thieving. Somehow her loss made it seem to her as though she was condoning the behavior henceforth. Not that she was!

"Nothing, mon cher." He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by her mood. "I just very much enjoy traveling by train."

When he broke his gaze from the window to look at her, Harry found a startled looking Hermione staring back at him.

"What is it?"

"The way you addressed me." She said, not sure how else to phrase it.

His smile was infectious, Hermione concluded, as her own broke the stone-faced façade she'd maintained for much of the journey thus far.

With the adjacent seats empty, she took the opportunity to cast some privacy charms under the table.

"We should come up with a course of action before we arrive." She stated, focusing on him instead of the view. The train was still picking ups speed as it wound its way out of the urban sprawl around Stuttgart, but already a few glimpses of the countryside could be gleaned.

"Oui" he agreed. "I would suggest we first find appropriate accommodations, and then perhaps visit the municipal government office and ask for the building blueprints pertaining to this"; he tapped the address given in the letter by Dumbledore.

"And you plan to just walk in, and what-" she snorted. "-simply ask for the building's records?"

Never mind that he was most likely planning on breaking into whatever place housed the second Manuscript. She concluded that the likelihood of them actually succeeding in appropriating it was quite high, even should she decide not to help him.

Which she would. Neither had any desire to speak to Dumbledore, considering he likely had a hand in the attack at Mont Saint Michel.

He shrugged. "There are two ways forward", he said, grabbing a bag of complimentary nuts. "We either bribe the staff." He swore her hair was beginning to stand on its own. "-or, we pull a Sympathy Simon"

"A Sympathy Simon?" she asked, not having heard of the term before.

"Trade terminology." He winked, popping a lonely cashew into his mouth. She frowned. "We begin with a simple call. He checked his watch and performing an easy addition to determine what time it was in Madrid. Using the cellphone they'd purchased, he entered a number and placed it on speakerphone. The dial chime emanated from the small device.

Harry looked at her. "How good is your Spanish?"

She gave him the universal 'so-so' hand gesture, rotating the extremity back and forth rapidly.

He winked at her, smirking.

"Hola" a female voice asked upon connecting.

"Ah, hello." The Thief greeted in passable Spanish. "I'm looking to submit a Building Permit. Do I have the proper department?"

"One moment please," the disembodied voice stated, before a musical chime took over.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed.

Before Harry could indulge her, another voice greeted them. Harry repeated his question and was quickly overwhelmed with rapid-fire questions. Hermione caught snippets of what district, and contractor information.

"Ah, my apologies. I didn't catch your name?" he tried, exploiting a gap in the one-sided conversation, and after a pause, she hesitantly gave it as Maria.

"Wonderful Maria. I'd like to stop by in person tomorrow with the plans to discuss things further. Is there a certain time you are out of the office, so I can avoid missing you?"

She absently stated that her break was between one and one forty-five. Harry thanked her and left a fake name, with an estimated time of arrival he didn't plan on committing too.

Tucking the phone away, he scribbled the information on a complimentary notepad with a cheap ballpoint pen.

"Well," she said, arms crossed. "-are you going to explain?"

"Hmm." He rumbled. "Still haven't figured it out?"

She sighed. "I have a few rough guesses, but no. I honestly can't tell what your devious mind is up to."

"Devious?" he repeated, grinning. "The only thing devious are my thoughts about how we are to share a single bunk on the SNCF redeye in a few short hours."

The SNCF refers to France's national state-owned railway company, which did indeed offer overnight service to southern European countries.

She blushed, but bit back an equally lewd comment in favor of sating her curiosity. "I shall allow it, should you explain yourself this instant."

She knew the comment was a mistake the second it left her mouth.

"Very well, Mademoiselle Granger." He agreed, a Cheshire cat-like smile now present. "The plan is quite simple…"

oOo

The next day, at twelve-thirty, a flustered, and very agitated looking man entered the main reception area of the City Building Department, holding a cardboard tube.

"Good afternoon" he greeted the young brunette sitting at the counter. "I'm here to pick up the plans for the Sala El Sol establishment, as per the building Information Request submitted last week."

She gave him a mildly confused look, but reigned it in after a second. "Ah, of course. Your name please."

"Esteban Rafael with Ayesa Engineering group." He provided hurriedly, pushing the thick-rimmed glasses back up his nose. "I was on the phone with Maria yesterday, and she assured me they would be ready for pick up."

"Oh, my apologies. Maria is away from the office at the moment. Are you able to come back in, shall we say, at two this afternoon?"

Harry gulped theatrically. "Please Seniorita, I am under a great deal of pressure. My boss is going to fire me if I don't bring him these plans before the hour is up. Please!"

The flustered reception temp picked up the phone and called out one of the aides, who dutifully took down the information Harry had written on an Ayesa letterhead note pad, snatched from the firm's own waiting area beforehand, along with a polo shirt and ball cap bearing the insignia of the company.

Hermione, meanwhile, was watching the byplay from the waiting area, somewhat bemused. He could have a future in cinema, with the act he was putting on.

At the same time, she marveled at all of the extra efforts he was expending, when a simple befuddlement charm would have sufficed. He really did take this self-appointed competition with the Night Fox very seriously.

After about ten minutes, a dusty rolled up set of plans were handed over, and a deposit taken in case they were damaged or destroyed.

The Ayesa employee gingerly secured them in the cardboard tube and profusely thanked both the temp and the covering assistant, who smiled politely and wished him a good day.

"That was quite the show." She laughed once they were outside the building, giving him a rare, if mocking compliment.

Harry, meanwhile, undid the glamours as they rounded a corner, reasonably sure no one was going to spot the changes. If he'd had more time, an old fashioned mask and wig would have been more favorable.

"And yet, if you were to investigate, it would simply result in another cold lead, with manpower wasted trying to find a bespectacled man that does not exist." He stated, hoping to get a small reaction out of her in retaliation.

"Yes, I believe that is obvious." She sniffed. "It is also why _catching_ a thief is often more challenging than the one doing the thieving."

"An astute observation" he ceded in good humor, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they returned to their hotel.

Tonight would be spent pouring over dusty blueprints!

oOo

Even from around the corner the loud thumping of music could be made out over the already noisy street. For the most part, people ignored them as they approached the bustling night club, though his partner's choice of attire did garner more than a few appreciative looks from random passersby.

The pair had come dressed to impress, the former in a custom-tailored suit he'd picked up in Turin, while she'd chosen a spectacular looking cocktail dress in black that had a very prominent feature; the material parted nearly down to her naval at the front. She had to use a pair of sticking charms to ensure it covered her modest but perky bosom.

The suit, the dress, and the gray ten thousand Pesetas note he smoothly pressed into the hulking bouncer's hand all ensured they successfully gained entry into the popular nightclub in the heart of Madrid, while bypassing the waiting crowds, who protested enthusiastically.

It was like music to his ears.

Inside, a wall of noise, smells and lights assaulted their senses. Moving quickly, they integrated themselves into the packed crowd that was grinding, gyrating and moving in near ecstasy. He was quickly forced to stake his claim as potential would be suitors gravitated to the curly brunette like proverbial moths to the flame. A few passionate kisses deterred all but a few, and those he dealt with using several harsh words and a look that promised pain should they persist.

Hermione, who'd been uncomfortable with the outfit, not to mention the setting, secretly enjoyed both the attention and his efforts to keep these rambunctious Spaniards at bay.

Despite the clear discomfort, she couldn't help but feel a sliver of satisfaction at the attention, both good and bad.

They danced, whispering positions of guards and cameras to each other. Then and there she realized how exciting it could be, doing what he did. It was glamorous, glittering, and expensive. Everything she wasn't. And yet here she was, clad in fabric expertly crafted by master designers in Italy, with a price tag that approached millions of Lira.

It was strangely addictive, and she felt ashamed to admit that. Hermione had never been materialistic. Yes, her apartment was filled with tomes and knickknacks; but nothing lavish or extravagant.

Her only real soft spot was the old Citroën H Van, which she'd seen at a Police Auction and gotten for a steal.

"Suit moving towards the target door. Time to move." His hot breath tickled her ear, giving her Goosebumps despite the heat generated by the hundreds of bodies in motion. They'd positioned themselves near the bright blue door used to access the restricted areas of the establishment.

An unnamed employee of the club moved along the wall with purpose, and quickly produced a card that generated a beep from the magnetic lock holding the steel door shut. The musical chime went unheard over the cacophony of noise in the space.

Reacting without drawing attention, a polished shoe wedged itself between the frame and the closing leaf, just before it was about to re-latch. A few seconds later, they slipped inside.

Large, fluorescent lights illuminated a corridor very different from the polished concrete and glass. The tiled floor was chipped and grimy, the walls covered with scuffs and decades-old paint, where it had not managed to flake off.

Clearly whatever money the owner allocated for upgrades had gone solely into renovating the public areas.

They made their way down its length quickly, passing several closed doors. If the municipal plans were correct, they'd first need to go into the basement, break through a wall, then find a narrow staircase that led all the way up to the fourth floor.

It would have been sealed during the last bout of renovations. It also made for the perfect infiltration point, as it would allow them to literally undermine the wards on the top floors of the building, which was actually separated into two distinct properties.

Commercial down below, and residential up top. The upper floors had long since been absent of any tenants, the club simply too loud to live over.

That was, unless you knew magic, and silencing wards in particular. Harry had taken a calculated risk by approaching Bill with their idea, but he simply didn't know enough about Wards to risk proceeding otherwise.

The curse breaker had been involved in beefing up the protections surrounding the Order's new headquarters, but could offer little of use regarding how to circumvent them. The plans though, once studied in detail, had yielded an unexpected weak point.

In hindsight, Bill admitted they hadn't consulted any of the muggle plans, simply placing a few permanent sound cancelling charms on the floor to keep the noise from permeating the upper floors. As such, only the walls and roof were layered, not the floor, which nobody thought could be walked up from.

The wild card in all of this was the man named Moody. Incredibly paranoid and a force to be reckoned with in a fight, his charmed eye was his most worrying feature. According to Bill, It could see through objects, disguises, and illusions. For this to work, he needed to be gone, or they'd be found out well before climbing the forgotten stairs that led to nowhere.

A distraction then, most unsavory but wholly necessary, involving a time turner of all things. At six o'clock local time, two cloaked and white-masked figures slipped into the Spanish Magical district of the capital and indiscriminately began throwing green curses at the bustling evening crowd.

The color matched the unforgivable perfectly, but in actuality was nothing more than a stunner, the incantation changed to facilitate the ruse.

Within minutes, a squad of Aurors had found their way to the still ongoing 'attack' and engaged the terrorists. The smaller of the two retreated, covering his or her accomplice from being felled by any opportunistic Wizard or Witch. The four Spaniards were swiftly dealt with and would signal the start of a nearly hour-long cat and mouse game consisting of running gun- er wand battles in the maze-like streets.

The Order wouldn't be much of a resistance group if an action of this magnitude went unnoticed right in front of their hidden headquarters, and before long a few civilians in Robes had joined in the manhunt. One was a grizzly looking man with an unmistakable peg leg.

Mad Eye.

Harry's shield deflected the ropes flung by a novice Auror, and he quickly took the girl out of the fight with another green light. Hermione had done remarkably well so far, both with her wand and emotionally. He didn't like terrorizing people like this, and he was sure that she was of the same opinion. Thankfully they hadn't encountered anyone but law enforcement for the last twenty minutes, and for them, the experience would ultimately be a training exercise, if a rather tasteless one.

She'd just disarmed her opponent and was mere second from finishing the fight when a flurry of spellfire to her right forced her to shield. Harry quickly stepped in, moving in front and deflecting a nasty bit of magic he'd only ever really recalled from books.

There were no words exchanged.

Harry wasted no time returning the favor, sticking to borderline dark magic to keep up the charade. Despite the leg, his opponent moved with practiced ease, avoiding nearly as many curses as he blocked with shields.

In between all of that, he somehow still managed to return fire, favoring piercers and explosive spells, all lethal. After transfiguring some nasty shrapnel that would have torn him asunder, Harry dropped the gloves, going for wide-area transfiguration based magic. The cobblestone street rose, moving towards Moody at high speed, not unlike an ocean wave. Many individual stones popped out of place, instantly changing to snakes and birds of prey.

The moving ground slowed the return fire, and with the initiative now gained Harry… disengaged. The initial fight with the Spanish Aurors had drawn attention quickly, and his partner was beginning to struggle with the reinforcements bearing down on them. Jabbing his wand into the ground everything, and it really referred to everything, began to ripple.

Those closest to him fell over almost drunkenly, their minds unable to overcome the illusion that, in the book he'd picked the spell from, was described 'as though the very landscape was being rolled up like a rug'. Nothing physically changed, but the magic scrambled the senses, making its victims see things, and ultimately they staggered, until finally falling over.

He grabbed Hermione, who had not been spared, and pulled her away from the scene. Green stunners found their marks, creating a hole in the tightening net.

After running a distance of several blocks, they ducked into a basement staircase, out of sight from any prying eyes. The time turner's chain looped around them and he spun, once, twice, three hours in total. The unique magic bypassed the anti portkey and apparition wards the Spanish had quickly erected, and they were surounded once more in a peaceful neighborhood, unaware that in less than thirty minutes the place would turn into a warzone.

They stayed still for a few minutes longer, Harry holding onto the still dazed witch, who was struggling not to lose her lunch right then and there.

"Merde, Harry." That was a truly awful experience.

"Oui" he agreed. "And I suspect jumping back in time may have compounded your misery, my dear."

A pepper up could have washed their fatigue from the last thirty minutes away, but it was good to keep that as a last resort. Harry apparated them both to their hotel room in the city.

"Sorry for the unpleasant feeling." He apologized, gently placing her on the bed. Hermione was able to sit upright but looked almost seasick. "Moody had backup, and we were seconds from being overwhelmed." He handed her a bottle of water, which she gratefully accepted.

Throwing off the heavy black robes and mask, he stripped down and made for the bathroom before pausing.

"Rest for a few minutes. The dizziness should pass quickly."

By the time he was done showering, she'd finished the bottle and disrobed as well. Harry gave a brief appreciative look.

"You could have joined me you know" he smiled, watching her pass him, wearing absolutely nothing. The sweat covered Europol agent smirked before slipping into the steamy bathroom.

"It would have taken three times as long that way." She argued, coming up with a good excuse to avoid a repeat situation of Harry's home. To be perfectly honest though they were both still a little weary of showering together following the incident in Switzerland.

Deciding now was not the time to think about what exactly their relationship was, he dressed in the clothes his past self from both three hours and thirty minutes ago had left for him.

They were going clubbing.

oOo

The night club's basement was smaller than expected, but considering half of the building's footprint was inaccessible that was to be expected. Beyond an unassuming brick wall lay the other half of the basement that, once upon a time, connected to the suites above.

According to his wristwatch, the party over in the magical district had kicked off a few minutes ago. Placing notice-me-nots, silencing charms and muggle repelling wards, they passed the remaining few minutes until reasonably sure _he_ wasn't in the building.

They weren't really worried about Moody spotting them beforehand. For one, they already knew he'd go after their past selves in a few minutes. On the other, it must be hugely distracting when one could observe over three hundred people danced provocatively below your feet, day in and out.

In all likelihood, he'd begun to tune the lower floors out by the first day at this new location.

Refocusing on the task at hand he looked over the wall they'd need to get through. Normally a blasting charm would have sufficed, but Harry disliked such crude methods, and instead transfigured the concrete block and mortar wall into an arch wide and tall enough to fit a person. Some crates covered the new opening from the club side, just in case someone found their way through the temporary spells they'd erected.

The air on the other side smelt stale, and a thick layer of dust covered the bare concrete floor. It was pitch black save for the twin flashlight beams panning around, their owners pointing them at anything of interest. But the basement was otherwise empty.

The thumping of the loud music above could be heard as the duo climbed the first flight of concrete steps. Rounding the landing on that must have been the main floor, it became clear why no one used the stairs, or why Moody had disregarded them as a potential weak point. They were gone. The old stringers that had supported the treads were the only evidence that they had ever existed, the wood faded except where the treads had once connected.

Muttering softly Harry pulled his wand and conjured some replacements. They'd last perhaps a day, long enough to return down and apparate out. Climbing the new, wooden steps, they eventually found themselves behind an old wood lattice and plaster wall.

The other side sounded clear, but he couldn't be sure. Producing a muggle electric drill charmed silent, he drilled a pencil-sized hole down low. A thin beam of diffused light marked its location on the otherwise white and gray surface.

Hermione was impressed with the equipment, noting it was of the same quality her surveillance team used. The camera probe tip pushed through the wall, showing them their first images of the other side.

It was a hallway. They already knew that, but it would have been better if it were a room, ideally with a closed door. Panning the lens left and right, he eventually gave her the green light. She raised her wand, outlining a rough door with its tip. The material traced by her wand's tip liquefied, then parted a few millimeters to form a seam. Some of the displaced material morphed into two brass hinges complete with screws.

They had their door. Slipping inside, Harry quickly covered the newly made opening with charms. To any passerby, the wall would look as it always did. Tapping himself and his accomplice over the head, they faded from sight. It wouldn't do for some magical portrait to raise the alarm now.

Their ruse within the old city seemed to be working. The Order Headquarters was mostly deserted. Gliding soundlessly through the complex they identified the kitchen, various bedrooms, bathrooms and the outside terrace used to come and go.

A short, redheaded woman was milling about in the kitchen, so they avoided that area altogether. Finally, they located Dumbledore's private study. The protective charms there were layered so tight, mage sight simply made them out to be a single bright mass. It covered the door and all of the wall, but again was open from the top and bottom.

Egressing from a window to gain entry from the roof above could potentially trigger the exterior wards, so down the stairs they went. It was the living quarters, and using the exterior corner of the building as a reference, they found themselves in a garishly decorated room showcasing a British broom flying team.

Pointing at the ceiling a sizable hole opened up, the displaced material morphing into an iron spiral staircase. It was tight but manageable.

The office above was richly decorated, they found upon pushing aside the sagging rug that had been left covering the new entrance.

Harry and Hermione each searched one side of the room, methodically going through bookshelves, dresser drawers, while wands sniffed out any potential hidden compartments, and of course curses or booby-traps. Hermione finished her sweep first, going for the desk and making sure it was safe to touch.

Dumbledore was a light Wizard but it would be foolish to assume that no protections were placed on the sensitive documents within.

She'd worked around the heavy hitters such as the locking charms but had no idea how to tackle the alarm without actually triggering it. It worked much like a magnetic sensor on a safe door would. If the two plates moved away from one another even slightly, the system, or in this case, the active countermeasures would activate.

One was located in the drawer side, while the other was inside the desk itself.

Coming to the same conclusion, Harry carefully transfigured the drawer faces only, making sure not to disturb the sidewalls of the drawers, which had one of the plates mounted to it.

The second manuscript was in the third drawer. It was of the same overall size and thickness as the first, making the switch both quick and simple. The night before Harry had transfigured a copy from a leather-bound blank journal purchased from a Book store.

With the switch complete Harry undid the spells allowing them access to the desk drawers, making sure every item was exactly where it had been before. Hermione re-cast the locking charms and on the way down the stairs, the rug floated back into place up above.

Stairs vanished, the ceiling no longer had a hole, and it looked like they were in the clear. That was, until the door opened and they were confronted by the very man they'd dueled earlier that night.

"Drop 'em, or I drop you", he growled, looking more than a little manic. His tongue darted out for a split second, then again.

The two wooden sticks clattered loudly on the floor. Moving through the door, the Auror Woman who'd delivered the letter in Switzerland entered next, then the very man they'd just robbed. Even more people followed, until it became more than a little cramped in the orange bedroom.

The two trespassers remained nearly frozen as the electric blue, shoulder-length haired Woman relieved them or their backup wands in a way that made them concerned about their chastity, at least while in front of a dozen people pointing wands at them.

He involuntarily shivered when slender, long fingers roamed along his limbs and torso that reminded him… of a seamstress in Paris? Recognition flashed and she grinned, before pulling the Mauser from his shoulder holster with a sound only metal on leather could produce.

"Figured it out, did ya?" she winked. "Don't feel too bad, you got me good when I was snooping through your hotel room in that tight little number." She said, referring to the maid outfit from the Hotel in Paris. She leaned in close, mouth right by his ear, though she had to stand on her tippy toes. "I hope you liked the show."

He shot a concerned look towards his partner in crime, who rolled her eyes at the Womanizing criminal she'd allied herself with. Harry followed with silent thanks that their new captors had taken her wand first.

Damn that English woman. That was the second time she'd gotten him in trouble with his lovely Detective.

"Back away from him Lass, lest he jump ye right here in the hall," Moody growled, making Harry out to be some sort of sex-crazed teenager with control issues.

The long, curly-haired man with the mustache to their left grinned so hard his face must have started hurting by now. Tonks finally stepped away, reasonably sure she'd rattled him at least a little, despite the ridged mask of indifference.

They were led back up the proper stairs and into the very Office they'd just robbed, now occupied by an honest to god phoenix. Neither had ever laid eyes on the near-mythical creature. Dumbledore no doubt banked on them being distracted by its presence.

Seating himself with a pleasurable sigh, the bearded man steepled his hands in his lap. The action would leave him open to a quick draw attack had either of them retained a wand. Perhaps he could wrestle one from the Woman? Or Moody, if he swept his good leg out from under him?

"Harry James Potter. It is good to once again see you. I must say, you've developed somewhat differently from what I've expected." His head shifted slightly to address the Europol Inspector. "And if my memory still serves me right, you are Miss Granger. My deputy spoke very highly of you during your stay at Hogwarts. How have you been, my dear?"

She regarded his calmly spoken words with caution, clearly not comfortable with the situation, or perhaps the topic. Harry never did find out the reason why she'd dropped out of the Scottish School.

"I am well, thank you for inquiring." She answered, seeing no harm in small talk.

Dumbledore regarded them both, moving his head back and forth while pleasantly smiling.

"Funny, isn't it?" he mused, grabbing a sweet from the nearby bowl. "How two people who should have attended Hogwarts, in the same year no less, found each other so far away from its walls. It almost seems like…fate."

Oh, there was no doubt he was hinting at something there. The bad thing was, he expected Harry to know what that something is.

"I don't believe in fate, Monsieur Dumbledore," Harry responded coolly.

The headmaster audibly broke the hard candy apart with a few crunches but said nothing, as if weighing his next words. In actuality, he was re-evaluating the young man's character profile based on what he'd gleaned through the surface Legilimency brush and the almost cynical way he'd responded to his last comment.

It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to convince him to join forces at this point in time. Pushing now would do far more harm than good. Dumbledore would pay for withholding something as crucial as the prophecy linking Harry to the Dark Lord later, but revealing this information now would likely end the conversation, as well as any potential partnership.

Albus produced the small black book Nymphadora had liberated from their guest's pocket and placed it on the desk.

"You are free to review it. However, I ask that it remain here." It was an olive branch, extended with the hope that some goodwill and trust could be built between the two- no three. He'd wronged the girl back on that dreadful night, unable to protect her from something she should have never had to face.

Were his eyes to travel down to her legs one would find the faintest of scars there, from where a Troll's club impacted them.

"You're just going to give it to them?" Moody barked, clearly angry. "After what they did?"

"Alastor," Dumbledore spoke softly but with eyes that gave the disfigured dark wizard hunter pause.

"Young Harry here made us aware of a potential security breach that even you did not foresee. I for one would think he should be rewarded."

Both Harry and Hermione looked at each other, wondering how their method of entry had been found out.

"And the _distraction_?" he ground out. "Do you have any idea how much panic they've caused?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk, something the disgruntled Order member picked up on thanks to the eye.

"Highly unorthodox, but if I recall from your description of the events, no one was hurt." He turned towards the pair. "Green stunners. Quite ingenious." Albus mused, stroking his beard. "I reckon the Spanish ministry would be grateful for the unexpected training drill, were it not for the mass hysteria it caused. "

For the first time, Dumbledore acted as a man of his position should, reprimanding them, if only lightly. No harm in that. At least Miss Granger had the common decency to look ashamed, he noted. Harry though held no such reservations.

'His moral compass is definitely slightly askew', the Headmaster thought.

"You may stay here as long as you wish, as guests, or leave without hindrance at any time." Dumbledore continued.

Harry had robbed a lot of people before, but even with his memory still a bit spotty, the young man was reasonably sure no one had ever invited him back into their home afterward.

"That is very kind of you." He offered in lieu of thanks. The older man could sense the uncertainty.

"If you'd like we can prepare the guest quarters…" he offered.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. To be honest, this operation hadn't exactly gone to plan, but then again, with the Crimson Hare involved, it never did. At least she could take pleasure in the fact that he was on the receiving end of the confusion for once.

Harry nodded, and their now host asked the Auror, Tonks, to escort them to Molly Weasley, who acted as a sort of quartermaster around here.

Moody watched them go, no doubt eager to have some words with Dumbledore.

"I suppose I can give these back." She held out the four wands, which swiftly found their way into their respective holsters. When she didn't return the Mauser, he cleared his throat.

"The Pistol, Mademoiselle?"

She looked over her shoulder, amused. "Ah, I'd hoped you'd be able to show me how to, you know, handle it. We have a practice room I think would be perfect." She shifted her gaze to Hermione, specifically her cleavage. "You're welcome to come as well." She followed up the offer with a wink that left them blinking at the audacity of the Woman.

Before he could decide how to respond, the trio found their way into the large tiled kitchen, where the short, heavyset woman from before was working over the oven.

"Wotcher Molly, we have some new guests. Can you set them up in Presidential suites?"

The Woman wiped her hands on the apron and looked them over, perhaps at Hermione a bit critically because of the dress. But something must have clicked in the woman's head, because her expression changed to a sad smile "Oh dear, is it really you?"

Without much warning she'd closed the distance and stood right in front of the much taller man, cupping his cheek like he was her own child.

"Oh Harry, I haven't seen you since you were but a babe. How are you, my dear?"

"Err, well, Madame." He coughed, wondering if this situation could get any stranger. She moved on, introducing herself to Hermione.

Mercifully Tonks left them then, telling the pair she'd see them at dinner 'in a few'. Her mannerisms and speech were really quite something.

The Woman named Molly led them away, chatting about how adorable Harry had been and how he'd have made such wonderful friends with her youngest son, Ron.

For some strange reason, Hermione bristled at the name, hands clenching into fists. He rubbed her back in silent concern, which seemed to help a bit, but she seemed quite uncomfortable, at least with the current topic of conversation.

"All right, here we are. This room here will be yours, Hermione. And the one next door is-"

"One room will suffice." He interjected, to which the redheaded woman responded by frowning.

"Very well." She stated curtly, showing them inside. Harry leaned in close and mumbled; "I'm going to count on you to keep me safe from that salacious English Auror. I fear for my safety once night falls."

Hermione, who'd been feeling what she hadn't identified yet as jealousy towards the Woman, snorted. "I very much doubt she'll be deterred. In fact, I fear we are both targets in her deviant mind."

Harry looked at the ceiling, muttering French curse words as his mind involuntarily began to stray with thoughts of what that statement might entail.

Hermione giggled, taking in the bare room that contained a bed, dresser, and nightstand. Mrs. Weasely, unaware of the light banter, made for the door, having explained where the facilities are and reminding them when dinner would be served.

Everyone was already seated when they emerged back in the kitchen, dressed much more conservative apparel.

"Bonjour."

Greeting everyone in French when most of the people around the table were English seemed like the right way to start things off. They remained seated, with the exception of the mustached man from earlier.

"Harry!" he nearly shouted, first extending his hand and then pulling the taller man into a hug. "I'm sorry, its just…I've waited for this day a very long time." He teared up.

"Oh c'mon Sirius, not at dinner" a redhead stated. "Tell him after." The identical sounding, and looking twin? added.

"Fine." The man grumbled, letting go and seating himself with a pout.

Dumbledore rose next.

"My dear friends, allow me to introduce the lovely Miss Hermione Jean Granger and her trusty assistant, Harry James Potter."

The young man frowned deeply at the obvious jab. "I must protest sir!" Harry interrupted, pulling the chair out for Hermione and invalidating anything he may have said in his defense.

Chuckles erupted up and down the table. He followed up his statement with a few choice French swearwords and seated himself, also pouting. Sirius glanced over, making eye contact, before cracking up.

Dumbledore introduced each person around the long table by name, more than he could ever hope to remember in one night.

"A pleasure to meet you all," the Inspector smiled winningly, while Harry simply added; "likewise."

A massive, steaming pot floated over from the ancient-looking stove; and bowls formed a queue to receive a healthy dollop of stew before flying off to find their respective owners.

At first, neither of the newcomers had put any thought into why no one had sat across from Tonks, that was until Harry felt two toes unzip his fly. The action was so unexpected he choked on a spoon full of food.

Hermione gave him a strange look, but nearly jumped herself when the same offensive limb began to caress the inside of her thigh, moving higher and higher until finally, she managed to get a hand underneath the table to fend the amorous foot off.

Across the table Moody shook his head, muttering something about crazy youngsters before returning to his meal.

It was more than a little awkward dining with complete strangers, so the pair mostly listened as the others talked and laughed. The situation in England was mostly left alone, with one heated discussion between two individuals at the far side of the table quickly shut down by Madame Molly.

"So Harry," the one named Remus Lupin said. "Tell us about yourself. Where did you grow up? Or go to school? And how did you meet this lovely young lady you've brought with you?"

Oh dear, this was bad.

"Ahh, well I spent much of my formative years in southern France, and was homeschooled I'm afraid. As for Hermione…"

"We're acquaintances through work." She supplied with a smile, patting Harry's hand with her own.

Now it was Tonks's turn to cough violently, having taken a drink when she'd said the last part. Lupin was sincere and accepted the answer without suspicion, which made the whole thing that much funnier.

The group was acutely aware of their dearly departed friends' son's nefarious activities from the numerous times he'd come up in briefings over the last month, before the terrible news of his erroneously assumed demise.

Never was a partner in crime mentioned though.

Tonks simply couldn't resist. "Yes, they're usually involved in the same cases, though oddly enough never at the same time."

"Cases?" Sirius asked? "I thought Harry…you know, stole things." He whispered the last bit, before looking around, not sure if the Weasley Matriarch would approve of this particular dinner topic either. At this point, all conversation had pretty much ceased around the room in favor of how this topic would unfold. Recognition dawned on the former convict as he realized why the name Granger sounded so familiar.

"Wait, you're-" he whispered the word, as if it would make it any less scandalous. "-a Police Woman?"

"Actually, it's Inspector." She corrected. "And yes, I am the head of Europol's property and priceless art theft division."

Sirius leaned back, deeply impressed. "Wow, I don't think even James would have been able to pull that off. I mean, Lily hated him in the beginning, but she never wanted to lock him up for life either."

Harry coughed, wishing they'd cease talking about him in such a poor fashion.

"I take it you knew them. My biological parents?" Harry asked, both out of genuine interest and because it would shift the attention away from him.

"Knew them?" he barked out in amusement. "Moony and I, along with your dad formed the core of the greatest pranksters that School had ever seen."

"Ohh, bad idea Padfoot." Remus, aka Moony stated, looking at the two stony-faced redheads, who'd up to a moment ago worn identical grins. "Do you really want to restart hostilities?"

Sirius shrugged. "Maybe I do."

A floating wooden spoon cracked against the back of his head, courtesy of Molly Weasley. "No! Absolutely not. I swear, all of you." The spoon tracked parallel to her pointed finger, waiting to leap into action.

"One toe out of line, and I will come down on you so hard you'll have problems figuring out which way is up, you hear me!"

One thing was for sure, the newcomers concluded, watching the dinner unfold. The members of the Order were a lively bunch.

"Argh, Merlin Woman." The spoon came by for another pass but was turned into a bird. "Ha,haa!" Sirius shouted in triumph, before resuming the discussion.

"Anyway, yes we knew them well. And of course, you as well, though back then you were much cuter."

"I'm inclined to disagree, cousin." Tonks purred from the other side, renewing her assault from under the table.

"Do you have any pictures of them?" Harry asked, firing a medical grade numbing charm point-blank at Tonks's leg, which fell to the floor with a thud. She huffed before trying to dispel it, without much success.

"Yeah, Hagrid mentioned a picture album he'd been meaning to give you when you turned eleven. He's not here right now. But I may have an old dog eared one from school upstairs somewhere."

Harry nodded in appreciation, while Hermione stared at Dumbledore, who'd been quietly slurping away at the head of the table.

"Headmaster, something has been bothering me since our unorthodox meeting earlier today." She stated in English. "Tell me, how were you able to determine our location in the Orange Bedroom?"

Harry had wondered about that as well.

Dabbing his mouth with the napkin, the ancient Wizard pulled an oversized magnifying glass from his robes and wandlessly levitated it over. Harry grabbed it first and pulled it close so Hermione could see as well.

One of the first things he noticed was the table was translucent. The second was the spell residue on the Auror's leg. A small dial on the side let him toggle through various settings. The pants faded, and he tilted the device up a ways before the Inspector snatched it from his grasp.

"Like what you see?" Tonks purred, having given up on trying to reverse the spell. He reddened, and the twins rediscovered how to laugh.

Dumbledore looked amused, assuming correctly that his reaction was answer enough. "When did you locate us?" Harry asked next, probably not going to like the answer.

"When we first received word of the attack on Usera", referring to the neighborhood south of the city center.

"And if I may add, you both dance quite well."

They groaned in defeat, passing the far too easily misused magical looking glass back to their host.

Dinner wrapped up in due time and they retired for the night. But not before receiving two visitors. One was the man named Sirius, who'd been more than just a good family friend. He was also Harry's godfather.

Of course, now it was too late, the man sitting opposite him a fully grown and quite accomplished adult. But Harry's heart warmed at the idea of his small family growing, even just a little. The two talked late into the evening, with Hermione listening in while resuming her Novel in a nearby chair.

The other visitor, predictably, was, of course, the Auror.

"Ok kid, I've tried everything." She panted, having dragged her useless leg up to the door. "Please undo this, otherwise I'll have to call Poppy."

Viewing this as a golden opportunity, he decided to lay out his terms for assistance.

"All right Mademoiselle, I shall assist you." She slumped down on the bed in relief. "-but you shall cease your advances towards both myself and Inspector Granger henceforth."

"Oh c'mon, I was just teasing." She rolled onto her side, posing seductively. Well, at least as seductively as one could with a dead leg. Beside him Hermione was chuckling, eyes still glued to the page.

He folded his arms, standing strong, like a boulder sitting in the violent surf of a storm. Right until she morphed before his very eyes into the spitting image of the girl curled up on the chair.

"C'mon Harry, don't be shy." Tonks licked her lips, hiking up her shirt a bit to reveal a cute naval and flat stomach.

He swallowed hard, both amazed and concerned at the ability. "Hermione, aidez-moi. Hermione!"

She huffed, tired of the interruptions, but quickly forgot whatever complaint had been on her lips at the sight of…her.

The curly-haired brunette lounging on the bed turned her head, a wicked smile on her face.

"Did you just take Polyjuice?" she asked, dumbfounded.

Harry shook his head, and before he could respond to the contrary 'Hermione' shifted, this time into a very oddly dressed Harry Potter.

'He' blew a kiss towards the stunned witch, then mouthed the words; 'I want you'

"You're a Metamorph!" the book slammed closed, now forgotten.

Tonks shifted back to her form with a winning smile. "Bingo! Now, you" she pointed at him. "Over here. Leg, now!"

He rolled his eyes but pulled the wand. With a hissed incantation sweet, glorious feeling returned to her leg. "Ahhh, that's the stuff." She wiggled her bare toes happily, then looked him over approvingly.

"I didn't peg you for a Parselmouth, Harry. You know, I heard something very interesting about those with the gift and cunninglus I'd just love to tr-"

"Do you ever give up?" he exasperated, scarcely believing what she was insinuating.

"Not usually." She answered truthfully. Making a sweeping gesture towards the door, Harry sought to end her relentless assault. Reluctantly she complied, but with a kicked puppy look and ears to match.

The door slammed shut harder than he'd meant to, and for a split second he felt bad, until she hollered from the other side; "I still have your Pistol, Harry. Perhaps the wonderfully shaped grip can help ease this poor love-struck girl's urges."

He banged his head on the door repeatedly, and Hermione laughed again, nose buried once more in the book.

oOo

Aldo Cortez replayed the first few seconds of the incident at Plaza De Carlos Cambronero, when the two hooded suspects appeared from the Calle del Pez and entered the Camera's field of vision. They looked out of place with the black, baggy clothes and drawn hoods. After stepping into the main square both revealed themselves to be wearing masks.

Shortly after the first strange, green light began shooting from something in their hands. He squinted, leaning forward. The footage on these older cameras was grainy, making identification next to impossible.

The results of these light hitting people instantly struck them unconscious. They'd all recovered since, but the incident was no laughing matter. Two had nearly been trampled in the initial melee, and there was damage to buildings, cars and the road surface itself from what followed.

Switching over to a different screen, the next video feed was already playing. The same two were now engaged in a fight of sorts, with multiple individuals like them firing off a rainbow of colors. Some missed, while others seemed to be deflected somehow.

The next few minutes were a question mark as the skirmish moved through a part of town not equipped with traffic cameras.

But Aldo was good at his job, and keen to have his superiors notice him. Checking private feeds of businesses for the last day or so had revealed more footage, and this was from a CCTV system, allowing him to capture the original two instigators' faces in crisp, clear detail.

Freezing the fame he captured numerous still shots, then image edited them onto an all-points bulletin to Interpol, who would distribute them throughout the EU.

No sooner had the task been completed did the door burst open, and he found himself looking at a thin stick of wood.

oOo

Cormac was worried. No one had seen or heard from Inspector Granger for almost a month now. She wouldn't return calls, the mailbox prompt coming on instantly. Her apartment was deserted, the plants beginning to wilt. The mailbox was overflowing with correspondence.

He was beginning to think something had happened to her. With a sigh, he sorted through the latest messages sent by their sister organization tasked with information sharing. Interpol was not in fact responsible for bringing in internationally wanted criminals. The daily tasks of their agents revolved primarily around gathering and distributing data, communicating with various law enforcement agencies and, quite frankly, pushing papers.

Much like he was at the moment. With Inspector Granger on leave for the foreseeable future, he'd been assigned to secretarial duties following his transfer. The Commissioner disliked the English, and felt he was suitable for this sort of work.

Cormac briefly flipped through the stack of fax files that had printed, organizing them by type. Much of them were transfer documents, requests for information, and a few case files. All things the Inspectors and their teams used to hunt criminals.

More of what he'd done back at Scotland Yard, though that involved a lot of patrolling. He'd hoped France would be different. Thought, perhaps, he had a chance with the fair Witch who was now absent.

Sighing again, he pulled another file from the tray, ready to throw it in one of the many piles that had accumulated.

"Sweet Merlin!" he muttered, recognizing not only his superior but also the man whom, up until a month ago, she'd been chasing.

Looking down at the blurb of text, the location instantly popped to the front.

Madrid, Spain.

Arcs of energy scarred the walls, floor, and ceiling of the practice room, cracking the plaster walls and lighting fires. The attack ebbed, and the shield that had so indiscriminately caused the Wanton destruction flickered out. On the one end, there was Harry, his fine silk shirt had its sleeves rolled up and tucked into form-fitting dress pants.

His opponent, or shall we say, opponents, stood on the much more damaged looking end of the room, breathing hard and looking like they'd gone a few rounds with Hagrid's half-brother. Moody, Tonks, and Sirius all sat on a long gym bench, observing as the Twins were soundly whipped by someone two years their junior.

Harry oozed confidence, class and above all, power. He cracked his neck theatrically, prolonging the breather he was giving Fred and George. Remus, who was officiating, put out the fires and repaired the worst of the damage above them, lest the roof came down on them.

Figuring he'd given them enough time to scheme, Harry raised his wand when the far door burst open, admitting his partner in crime, so to speak.

"Harry, I think I've figured out the Manus-oh. Pardon the intrusion." She clammed up, seeing his favorite hangout over the last few days was occupied more so than usual.

Interested, he decided to end the duel early, launching a devastating spell chain that quickly herded both redheads into the right corner. Faking firing wide after dodging a desperate counterattack, he intentionally transfigured the back wall into something resembling the consistency of chilled molasses but ten times stickier, then blasted them both back into said wall with an area banisher. The impact rattled them sufficiently that a few seconds later he held their wands.

Moving off to the side, he greeted her, while the three spectators rose, moving towards the two flies stuck in the trap, most likely to ridicule them.

"Buenos días, mi amor." he tried, practicing the seldom-used Spanish. Hermione swatted him playfully, but smirked at the words of endearment. She couldn't help but look over at the two pranksters, who were now arguing over which one had cost them the duel.

"Harry, did you have to be so hard on them?"

He shrugged in good humor. "What can I say, they had it coming."

And really, they did. The only son of the marauders, and fresh meat to boot, Harry had been on the receiving end of a half dozen low-intensity pranks over the last few days. The twins worked mainly R&D in house, but would also be called upon for large scale raids or VIP protection missions. They worked best together, so when Harry had suggested a friendly spar with not one but both of them, well they'd liked their odds and agreed.

"Now, what was this about the Manuscript?"

"Of course! I was in the Black Library looking for information about Bethany Sly. Well, I did. There's an old version of the black family tree which mentions the Sly's were a cadet branch of Slytherin House.

"Slytherin?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar.

"One of the four founders of Hogwarts, Salazar Slytherin's house values cunning and ambition. But that's not all. Slytherin was rumored to be able to converse with Snakes."

His eyes widened.

"The Manuscripts are Parsel locked! Inspector, you are a genius." He held her by the shoulders and planted a quick kiss on her lips, leaving her smirking at the reward.

"Hang on, I'll be but a moment."

Walking over to the wall, he undid the transfiguration, depositing the still arguing men on the floor.

So, do we have a deal?"

They got up and accepted their wands back. "Yeah, we have a deal." The one on the right said.

Bill had mentioned that the Twins' dream was to open a joke shop, but with the work done for the Order they'd never gotten around to it.

Harry, hoping to get a better fight out of the two, offered them business terms. He'd finance their start-up with fifteen thousand Galleons. If they won, his share of the Business would be fifteen percent. If he won, the amount stayed the same but Harry would own thirty percent instead.

Of course, he wouldn't have offered such a sum to just anyone. But upon learning the twins had come up with the tracking bugs and multiple other technomagic hybrid prototypes, the risk/reward ratio became acceptable to him.

They'd practically salivated at the offer. Sirius, who'd been in the kitchen at the time and hadn't seen much action other than a few clandestine operations out of the public's ever-observant eye, quickly tagged along, picking up Remus and his cousin Nymphadora along the way. Moody naturally found his way down just before the duel commenced, eager to study Potter's fighting style.

In a controlled environment, it was easy to see he'd outclassed them by several orders of magnitude at least. His footwork, wand movements, and use of a coaster sized palm shield marked him as an experienced dueler.

They officially shook on it before Harry excused himself, promising to find them later and hash out the details of their future business plan.

She pulled him into the room that functioned as the library. Sirius had explained to them in detail what had transpired across the channel while they were in Switzerland and Germany. When the Order abandoned England, they packed up most of the Black Ancestral Home's extensive collection of strange and dangerous tomes. Madrid would be their new staging point as the conflict shifted south and to the East and West.

Hogwarts had gone into siege mode, no longer functioning as a school, but a toehold in an otherwise hostile land. The takeover two weeks prior had not gone as smoothly as Voldemort would have liked, with many Aurors and their families seeking refuge within its walls. Bones had become a sort of Wartime Minister. The force was sufficient enough that Voldemort did not dare try to storm it…yet.

Already a few contingents of Wizards and Witches from France and Portugal had taken up the call and bolstered the garrison there. Much of Dumbledore's time was spent in Emergency sessions at the International confederation of wizards, trying to drum up support for an expeditionary force to retake England now that Voldemort had made himself the de-facto leader.

Harry and Hermione had arrived just as the deluge of exfiltration missions pertaining to at-risk persons out of England had tapered off. As a result, many members were present at most hours of the day. The floo in the formal dining room was the only connection to the besieged castle, but it was isolated, meaning they didn't see much of the traffic entering the building from the adjacent terrace.

Closing the door to their shared sleeping quarters, they sat down on the bed, book in her hand.

'Open' Harry hissed. Nothing happened.

'Reveal yourself.'

The book remained stubbornly blank. He tried a few other variants of the word with equal success.

"Well then." He flopped backwards onto the Mattress, thinking back to how he'd changed the password on the expanded basement loot room in his home. The word only had meaning to him, and he could have made it a whole phrase too. 

The odds of them guessing the Pass Phrase were slim to nonexistent.

"Damn. I was so sure we'd finally figured it out." She sighed, plunking the Manuscript down on the end table before joining him.

Harry, feeling playful, tweaked her nose with a finger. She swatted the hand away lightly, but smiled.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he suggested. "I think these Spaniards know how to have a good time from the amount of noise they made last night."

She chuckled, her hand finding his. "I asked Monsieur Black about that this morning. I think he called it 'Verbena de la Paloma'. Supposedly it lasts for three days."

"Even better. Let's go!" he pulled her up.

"Now?"

He shrugged. "No time like the present."

Unlike Germany and France, the heat in Spain lasted well into the late evening hours. Not bothering with jackets, they snuck from the room, making their way up to the terrace. There was technically no street access, their cellar route aside, so the two side along apparated down to the adjacent alley conveniently within direct line of sight.

August in Madrid was vacation season, meaning the normally bustling city was nearly deserted during the sweltering daytime. But as the temperature dropped and the winds picked up, what residents remained took to the streets, dancing, laughing and celebrating. Street vendors peddled their wares in colorful carts, and musicians attempted to outplay their counterparts, often just a few dozen meters away at the next intersection.

It was wonderful after three days of not leaving the compound, as Hermione had coined the upper floors of the building.

His hand found hers as they walked through the crowds, much like it had in Turin, and Théoule-sur-Mer before that. She gave him a radiant smile that momentarily took his breath away. Sensing the moment she angled her head back, and he leaned in and stole a kiss.

A second later a yellow jet of light impacted her shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

'I need help. I need to save her' he repeated in his head, like chanting a mantra, panic beginning to claw out of his chest. The appartation wards stretched on, seemingly endless, as he sought to clear them, carrying her bridal style through the darkened, deserted streets.

The attack had come from nowhere. He'd gotten a shield up just in time to avoid a second spell. Many of the nearby bystanders hadn't fared so well. The laughter from moments before was quickly replaced by screams. Bodies lay strewn everywhere as he traded fire with cloaked figures, careful not to miss his shots with anything other than stunners.

He'd managed to pull her into a doorway and collapse the masonry arch on two pursuers. Now, for the last five minutes, it had been a deadly cat and mouse game, with the muggles suffering the most.

He'd seen more than one stuck down by the Killing Curse. Young, old, but all equally innocent. Harry managed to ambush one group from within a darkened alcove, the street light above broken, killing them all, but his primary concern now was Hermione.

Damn it, time was running out. The shouts were getting closer again, and there was no nook close by to stash her while he fought. More worryingly, there was a notable waxy yellow growth on her skin, just below her short sleeve shirt, and it was spreading. She wouldn't make it to a healer in time like this!

No choice then, he concluded, grim-faced. With a whispered curse, he marshaled his mind, focusing on the small, important memory it had freely surrendered.

A possible solution, no matter how far fetched. With magic, even fairy tales of old often held on to a thread of truth in an otherwise fabricated story.

This was no story, however. More of a rumor. He tried, futilely, to recall where he'd heard it from, but with danger seemingly around every corner, he quickly dismissed it in favor of action. Concentrating on what he needed most at this very moment, Harry spoke, shifting Hermione awkwardly in his arms.

"Aid me, Morgne, dealmaker, healer, life taker. Aid me, and my remaining years shall be yours." The words rang clear, if somberly.

The legend goes that only those desperate enough to willingly forfeit their lives are able to find the legendary healer. She may appear anywhere, even a dense wood, waiting in a shabby house with a sign.

Hearing shouting from up the curved street he swiftly moved on, hoping the old tale was true, despite what it would mean for hi- yes! There it was, a Caduceus symbol, hanging from a weathered old sign, creaking in the warm nighttime breeze.

The Death Eaters were nearly upon him, so without hesitation, the desperate Wizard pushed the door open, not even bothering to look at the interior, before slamming it shut again with his shoulder.

The moment the rusty latch clicked shut, their excited shouting ceased. But this was no time to relax. Whipping his head around, he took stock of the room and its many, many contents. It looked like a cross between a book store, apothecary, and dark artifacts shop.

Carefully, he navigated through the odd room, making sure the girl in his arms didn't touch anything potentially dangerous. Finding a sofa, he gently placed her upon it, and violently flinched a moment later when a spectacularly old woman made her presence known beside him.

She stared ahead with milky white eyes. Was she blind?

"My friend, she's been hit by a curse I can't identify." He explained. "Please, can you help her?"

She slowly shuffled forwards, leaning heavily on her cane. How he hadn't heard her approach was beyond him. A silencing charm perhaps?

The thief watched closely as she began to check her over. The discoloration had spread to her neck and down her arm. A portion could be seen along her collarbone opposite of the original hit. It was spreading, and fast.

The exam went on, and despite his best efforts, the sheer oddity of his surroundings drew his attention away, if only momentarily. It was enough for Harry to notice another, much more ornate caduceus design, showing two snakes coiled around a pole.

The modern use of the symbol in medicine only came about in the late nineteenth century. Before then, it was associated with trade, negotiation, and alchemy. Of course, there were more, such as deceit and passage into the underworld. Judging from its age, he figured this piece honored these older qualities.

It was also quite fitting; if the payment required of him was true. The snakes moved, and he couldn't help but whisper a greeting to them.

The noise broke the woman's concentration. _"You speak the noble tongue,"_ she stated in Parsel, not really a question, but a statement. _"It is a rare trait nowadays."_

Her voice was rough, like a door whose hinges hadn't been oiled closing slowly.

So she was a speaker too? Incredible. Had they met before? Is that how he'd known of the tale that led him here?

"Do I know you?" he tried engaging the woman again. She simply resumed her diagnostic of the girl, now pulling a beaten up old wand.

Almost on autopilot, Harry pulled the Manuscript from his pocket. He'd taken it from the order headquarters, not trusting the Order to try and pilfer it from their shared room. Her eyes widened, telling him she could in fact see.

"Peculiar." She stated. "Had you not just produced the book in your hand, I would have said the girl was beyond saving. Do you know what you're holding, boy?"

"I have an idea, but know not the passphrase." He admitted. "You can save her, with this?" he held up the book.

"I can. But what interests me is how you came into its possession. I know its previous owner, and he wouldn't have given it up easily."

Sticking to honesty with Hermione's life slipping away, he flat out told her. "I liberated his painting for him. The book was payment for services rendered."

Again the hag looked surprised, but also for the first time, grinned, a nearly toothless smile. "You're a thief then. Excellent."

Harry's expression became guarded. Why would she be pleased with his so-called calling in life?

"Please, time is short. If you can heal her, then do so! I'll give you anything you want."

"Yes, yes." She looked down at the pretty face, pale as ash. "Normally I'd gladly rip you from the mortal coil. So many years left too. I rarely see someone so young. But there is something I seek more than your life force. Fetch it for me, and I'll heal her."

He was becoming frustrated. "There's no time!"

"Silence!," she snapped, slamming her cane down on the floor with a bang. She faced him then. "While I initially hoped her condition would spur you on quicker, I fear you are correct." Leveling her wand, she muttered a collection of syllables he knew to be Parsel, but a spell he'd never heard before.

Pale, blue light flowed over Hermione like a mist, then penetrated her body, settling under the surface of her skin.

Rushing to her side, he realized she was cold and too still. She wasn't breathing.

"What the hell did you do?" he drew his wand, pointing it at her heart. She slapped it away, not concerned in the least.

"You youngsters are so bothersome. She's alive, placed under stasis. It will last for a fortnight. That's how long you have to acquire what I desire."

He didn't like it, tucking the wand away. Damn it all, how could his luck change so quickly? A mere thirty minutes prior, he was strolling down a lively street, spending time with a woman he'd grown immensely fond of.

"What is the item, and where can I find it?"

She gestured him to follow, moving into the maze that was her home. Struggling to pull a dusty tome from a shelf, Harry stepped in, chivalrous despite being taken advantage of, and pulled it from its resting place.

The hag didn't thank him, simply placing it on a nearby Book Easel that looked to be from antiquity.

It was written in Latin, a language he could not read, yet alone speak. A single, gnarly finger pointed at an elaborate drawing after she'd found the seemingly correct page.

"A medallion?" he studied the design. It was intricate, golden in color from the faded water paints used by the long-dead artist, and with a ruby red gemstone seated in the center. A fine-looking piece, and not overly large judging by the fact that it had a chain attached, meant for wearing around the neck.

She did not elaborate.

"Very well. And it's current resting place?"

"The Flamel Estate." Was her answer. He ripped his gaze from the book, looking down at her.

"Surely you jest." Nicholas Flamel, the famed alchemist who'd lived centuries, owns this medallion?

She walked off, back towards the sofa, and seated herself in the empty chair nearby. The conversation was over. He was quickly getting used to her no-nonsense way of communicating.

"How will I find you again?" he asked, not sure if the magic used to get him here would work the same way. She produced a key from her pocket.

"Use this on any door." She instructed, but not ceding her grip over it as he made to grab it. "Do not misplace it."

It was a warning he didn't intend to test.

Pocketing the key, he moved to pick up Hermione. Help or no, he wouldn't just leave her with the old hag. Moving towards the door, he felt that, perhaps, this was the first time two people had ever exited this place together, alive.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time. She was watching him. Harry left without much further fanfare, not sure he'd made the right decision.

oOo

The street was eerily quiet when he stepped back outside. In the handful of minutes they'd been gone, the Death Eaters had vanished. Perhaps they were still looking, fanning out from the initial point of the attack.

The apparation wards were still up. Harry, his arms full, picked a random direction and started walking. He'd need to gain entry to the Flamel Estate, which, if he recalled correctly, occupies a vast footprint of land just North East of Nevers, back in France.

And it would be well warded. Not an easy target, but at least the Hag had given him some breathing room in regards to time, allowing him to conduct proper surveillance. He'd also need to find a place to keep Hermione safe. The order was clearly compromised, as shown by the attack on them not half an hour after leaving the compound.

Harry blood boiled at the thought of the _basterds_ who'd cursed her, and loathed himself for allowing her to come to harm.

'Forgive me' he thought, looking down at her as they rounded the corner.

oOo

Cormac had taken two Spanish uniforms with him to conduct the sweep of this part of the sector. The Spaniards were stretched thin, and had assigned Wizards and Witches to regular Police units for the sweep, labeling them as plain-clothed officers called in from an outlying ward. Should they need to engage the terrorists, their memories could be wiped afterward.

They were halfway down the street when a man, carrying someone came into view.

" _Alto!"(Stop)_ the muggle shouted, and the man did, for a second anyway. Retreating down the same street he'd emerged from, they briefly lost sight of him. The Oficial de policía beat Cormac down the road and around the corner, eating a stunner for his troubles.

"Bloody hell" McLaggen quickly pulled the unconscious man towards him and behind cover, then returned fire using the stone cornerstone of the building as concealment. The second Policeman pulled his sidearm but Cormac gestured for him to stop.

Rolling into the street, he shielded as his dueling instructor taught him. A half dozen spells impacted before he'd even acquired the perp. He was still holding the unconscious person, a woman from the looks of it, but it was a difficult thing. Going for stunners unless he changed his tune, they traded spells, shielding often.

He was good, and McLaggen felt that he would be pressured should he decide to drop the Woman, whom he noted had brown, long hair that reached her mid-back.

It was simplistic, but neither seemed to want to badly hurt the other, especially with a potential hostage involved.

The muggle had a good head on his shoulders and was already radioing for backup. Cormac was confident that he'd be able to distract the man until he could be brought down in a crossfire.

oOo

Harry, for the second time tonight cursed his rotten luck, deflecting another stunner while dragging the limp body of his Police Woman down the narrow street. His window to escape was closing fast. Already, the sirens of Police cars could be heard, getting louder by the second. He couldn't apparate away, and had no time to fashion a port key.

He couldn't be caught. The outcome would forfeit her life. Placing her on the street as gently as he could, Harry went on the offensive. If he could drop this guy fast enough, there might still be time to slip through the closing net.

The gloves came off quick, and he began a heavy-hitting spell chain meant to overpower without mortally injuring. His shield spells were good, but also told Harry he was likely average at best when it came to dodging. Shifting his aim for the next spell, a Bombarda, slightly, the stone stairs of the entryway his opponent was standing next to blasted apart viciously. A few pieces made it past the shield, which he'd rotated just in time to prevent significant injury.

He staggered, but before Harry could finish him, a stunner from his right careened by, forcing him to pull back.

"Merde." He growled, knowing he had to move. Disengaging, he fired a Parsel tracking charm at Hermione, and allowed himself a second to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. The mark was still there, but hadn't spread since they'd left Morgne's lair.

"I'll come back for you, _mon cher_. I promise."

Harry fired a nearly invisible tripping hex at the Auror who'd interrupted the duel and nailed him with a stunner before he'd even hit the hard surface of the road. A shield deflected the first Wizard's clumsy follow-up shot.

Using the street, the unconscious Auror now lay in as his exit route. He dodged a flurry of curse fire, deflecting what he couldn't dodge and occasionally focusing on the most aggressive of his pursuers. Five minutes later saw him entering the bone dry storm sewer, feet silenced and running at full tilt. The second he felt the Wards loosen their hold, Harry Potter apparated away.

oOo

Two nights later found the young thief perched in a tall Oak jutting from the outer edge of a dense wood adjacent to the Manoir de Flamel.

He'd made two pit stops before coming here.

One was the Order Headquarters, who'd once again mobilized to assist with the evening's tragic attack. There, he liberated the Woman Auror's Omnioculars, which would come in very handy during surveillance. Normally jobs like this one took months to fully plan out. With only two weeks less two days, that meant using Magic to help speed things along.

He didn't like it, but it could not be helped.

The other was the Magical Hospital Hermione had been taken too. The man he'd dueled and almost beaten was there, in her room, sitting on a chair, holding her hand. Harry frowned at his overly familiar behavior but did not act.

She was safe here, and being taken care of. Better than what he could do for her at the moment, left alone in a locked room, wards keeping anyone and everyone but him out. He observed for only a few minutes longer, before taking his leave, driven to complete the job.

He'd rented a room in a small inn some thirty kilometers away from the Manor, far enough to avoid suspicion but close enough to easily apparate to.

As expected, the Wards shone brightly from behind the charmed lenses of the optics. He identified the stones powering them easily enough, the otherwise invisible lines arcing and flowing into them like a magnetic field.

Of course, as a thief, he knew about wards, but generally didn't go near them. As such he could identify, but not break them down. This left him with two options.

One, tunnel underneath the estate, a tedious and time-consuming endeavor, but relatively safe.

The other was to destroy the Ward stones, and the wards along with them. It could be accomplished with some muggle explosives delivered from a distance. A high caliber rifle may be able to accomplish the task also if the ward stone was visible and there were no precautions placed against objects embued with high kinetic energy.

But the assault, and it would be seen as nothing but that, would quickly gain the attention of the occupants, and before long, the French Aurors.

He sighed, noticing a woodland creature scurrying about. Observing the squirrel for a few minutes, he eventually watched it zip across the ward boundary as if it weren't even there.

Well, that made things easier, he thought with a small grin.

oOo

Two big, velvety soft ears swiveled around, and the cute pink nose pulsed a few times. Resisting the animalistic urge to detour into a nearby clover patch while crossing the lawn proved to be harder than actually gaining entry into the mansion. Someone had left a window open on the first floor. Deciding to remain in his Animagus form, Harry explored, getting a good idea of this humble abode's layout.

The omniculars had revealed a shielded area in the center of the structure. He'd confirmed the shape by observing the dark, rectangular mass from multiple angles. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't see past it, even on a broom from several hundred feet in the air.

Hopping around the corner, he should be coming up on it right about… ah, so that's what it was. While the exterior had looked to be several centuries old, the dark rectangle was actually a magnetically regulated vault. Pierce any part of it and the alarm is tripped. It consisted of multiple layers, isolated from one another by opposing magnetic bearings in a hard vacuum. It was like an oversized ball valve on a faucet. The field must block out whatever charms were applied to the magical spy glasses.

The only way was through the door. A door with a voice modulator that responds with a full lockdown if the tone is registered as being under any sort of duress, a retinal and palm scanner, not to mention a custom key.

This was a safe that wouldn't give up its contents easily. The voice portion likely made the Imperius redundant, though perhaps if he could attain a sample… of course he'd need to know the actual keyword.

Apparition was out as well. The immediate area around the Safe had wards to prevent entry by magical means, with the ward stones likely placed inside to prevent tampering.

Too bad bunnies couldn't sigh. He'd enjoy cracking this beauty under differing circumstances and given enough time. Hoping around, it seemed the vault was isolated from any interior walls. The room must have been a repurposed dining area at some point, now nothing more than a ring of corridors, elaborately decorated on one side, and smooth, polished metal on the other.

Could it be that simple? Surely not. They must have taken precautions. Reverting back and from up close, he studied the original stone floor, which was now covered by hardwood. The planks had been cut and removed, with the edges braced where the underlying beams no longer supported them.

The vault itself though simply sat on the bare rock, some thirty centimeters below, connected by a single armored conduit feeding power and fibreoptic lines.

And those could be severed easily enough.

Simple, yet elegant. Harry changed back into the Crimson Hare and finished his walk, or hop through of the house, just in case the item wasn't simply lying around somewhere. Finding nothing but a regular wall safe which he opened in a few short minutes, the thief left.

There were preparations to complete.

oOo

Five days later, he stood on an empty barge floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. An old tug had pulled the derelict, rusted scrap pile here, where it had dropped anchor. It had cost seventy-eight hundred francs, and the tug another thirty-five.

A group of six Moroccan workers kitted with arc torches stood at the ready. They were each receiving two hundred francs a day, plus a portion of whatever he deemed was safe to hand over within the vault. Gasoline generators idled on the edge of the large platform, while a series of tents stood on the other.

"All right gentlemen, I shall return shortly." He saluted them, and a few snorted, perhaps thinking the French man with the deep pockets crazy. Then he disappeared in front of their very eyes.

Harry reemerged in the woods and immediately shifted, shedding some seventy kilos of mass. Moving up to the moss-covered granite ward keystone in a very large, very beautiful lilac bush, he slightly reconfigured one detail of a single ward in the scheme. He allowed for outgoing portkey travel. Since the change didn't affect security, it was easily done. Had it been incoming he likely would have needed approval from the owner.

The window he'd used to enter through previously was closed tonight, but a quick _hop_ around of the exterior showed another to be open. With the layout memorized, he soon found himself in front of the massive metal monolith once more.

Not once had he directly seen either of the Flamels, but with a house this large, that did not surprise him.

For one last time, he changed back into his more well used bipedal form, drawing his wand.

"Portus" he whispered, tapping the sleek black metal. The whole mass pulsed blue for a moment. Transfiguring the floor boards directly above the conduit into a comically oversized set of bolt cutters, the titanium-reinforced tube was bisected by several hundred tons of force. Instantly alarms around the house began to wail. He hated that sound. Ideally, one would only become aware of his activities the next morning. Placing his hand on the flat surface, he uttered the activation word.

The Vault vanished, leaving a gaping hole in the otherwise large, empty space.

oOo

Albus Dumbledore arrived on the floating barge by broom, a form of transport he hadn't used in some forty years. Nicholas was already present, his feathers looking mighty ruffled. Before he could greet his longtime friend and former work partner, the large, crude hole in the side of the black box drew his gaze.

"What was taken?" he asked, fearing Voldemort had attained the philosopher's stone at long last.

The thin, frail-looking man shook his head, pulling the blood-red rock from his robe pocket, and for a moment Albus was relieved.

"Some money, gold and jewelry I'm afraid."

"Jewelry?" Albus repeated, sounding wary. Flamel, on the other hand, looked grim. "The Aqen amulet."

Oh dear, this was bad. This was very, very bad indeed. Suddenly Voldemort achieving immortality didn't seem so bad in comparison.

"You're certain?" he whispered, grasping the flaking paint-covered railing for support. The sea was calm, and the first rays of sunlight lit up the sky in hues of blue and purple.

Flamel nodded, his face etched with deep worry.

Albus exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, before looking at the coming sunrise. What a lovely morning to receive such disturbing news.

oOo

Harry's tracking charm told him Hermione had been moved back to Paris. This happened about a week ago, while he was still staking out the Flamel Mansion. The charm was not as accurate as the magical trackers both she and the Order had utilized, but by comparing the direction his wand pointed to an old fashioned map, the only place it could be was the French Capital. More than once did he have to force himself to put her from his mind, at least while doing the job.

Now though, with the amulet in his possession, it was time. The safe held a great many artifacts. He'd taken the muggle currency and goblin gold currency to pay his 'crew', but actually warded the safe until its rightful owner could reclaim it.

Now, flying over the City's daytime skyline, the hospital in question came into view. It was Saint Louis. Of course it was. After all, it also contained the largest Magical Hospital in all of France.

Circling the sprawling complex twice, Harry managed to narrow down her location further to the East wing. Forgoing the spy glasses, he focused on a particular section, then identified the floor.

Reasonably sure he had the right window, Harry simply vanished it. The action instantly pulled the long, white curtains from the opening, caught in the breeze. He hopped off the broom and into the window frame, taking in the bright room.

There she was, lying on an old fashioned metal-framed bed. Flowers and balloons had been placed on the nearby table. Harry, clad entirely in black seemed her complete opposite at that moment. He was a thief, here to steal her away. She was wearing a pure white hospital gown and was tucked in with white linens.

She looked like an angel.

The thought made him crack a smile, even if it was a small one.

Harry cast a feather-light charm on his prize, and gently plucked her from the bed, careful to take the sheet and preserve her modesty. Within moments he was back at the window, crouched and about to jump onto the waiting broom, when the heavy door opened.

Harry and the man holding a stuffed teddy bear both froze, but his stunned expression made the thief smirk. It was the Auror who'd initially forced him to abandon her.

How fitting.

The man moved, going for his wand as he jumped. Diving down to gain speed he, was a hundred yards away by the time he'd reached the window. From the reasonably safe distance, he spared the Auror one last look. His wand was tracking them but he wisely held his fire, lest he actually hit and have the girl plummet to her death.

With a cheeky salute, the thief flew out of sight.

oOo

"We've located one of the men who had a hand in torching the vault." She reported from the mirror. Albus sat in his office, the second Manuscript resting on the desk.

"He claims the man paid in cash, French Currency, and simply asked them to be on call for when he was ready to execute the plan. The description matches him."

"Thank you, Nymphadora. Please find your way back here post haste."

She nodded before the connection faded, showing an old, tired face.

Why had he done it? Why steal something so obscure, modern history wasn't even aware of its existence. Did Harry even know the Amulet's purpose? Or the notoriety of its last owner before dear Nicholas?

What could have possibly compelled him to suddenly target one of the most famous Wizarding figures of all times, while his friend and possible romantic interest lay near death in the Saint Louis rare magical maladies ward.

And to leave something as rare and valuable as the Philosophers stone behind.

A musical chime rang, drawing his attention to the wall map. The small figurine was on the move. Albus tracked numerous people like this, including his own, like the one labeled 'Tonks', which had just begun moving from Tangier and crawled up towards Madrid.

Those pieces, however, didn't alert him when in transit. Hermione Granger though would. The Order had let the young English man take her away. Albus recognized him as a Hogwarts alumni from three years past, and, upon examining her in person, had seen no reason to keep her.

Cormac McLaggen. He remembered his grandfather back when Albus had taught defense against the dark arts. Apparently, they were work colleagues.

He observed the figurine move within Paris's city limits through the aid of a large magnifying glass overlaid on the map. It stilled for a moment, then disappeared.

Albus frowned. The tracker had been placed in her medical tag, worn on the wrist. Was it Harry, coming to take her?

Alerting Remus and his 'dog' Padfoot, he informed them to prepare for a quick surveillance mission.

oOo

Harry inserted the Skeleton key into an old fashioned lock. Finding a door fitted with one in this day and age had been harder than expected. He settled for a side door of a little known Chapel randomly spotted from the air before visiting the hospital.

It clicked ominously when twisted. Beyond, the room hadn't changed since his desperate visit some eight days before. He walked Hermione to the same antiquated sofa and put her down. This time the old Hag didn't manage to elicit a reaction.

"The Amulet?" she held out her hand. Harry pulled it from around his neck, but held on to it firmly.

"It's authentic, and I shall gladly hand it over, but only after you heal her." Harry's wand was pointed at her in case she tried anything funny. She looked frustrated, but there was a clear and definite desire there.

"The book then." She held out her hand. Harry obliged, pulling the manuscript form his expanded pant pocket, eager to know what the passphrase was.

" _Mandjet_ " she whispered.

And just like that, the neat, loopy handwriting of a Woman appeared. She flipped through the now ink-filled pages, until finally stopping, seemingly knowing what to look for.

Her eyes darted left and right. She must be re-read the page. Harry still had his wand trained on her, heart now pounding in his chest with anticipation. He wanted to ask her if she was Bethany Sly, but held his tongue in favor of letting her work.

The stasis charm was undone first, and he saw her chest rise and fall for the first time in over a week. Then came the muttered incantation, and the wand movements. He observed as best he could, always interested in learning new and useful magic.

The mark was pulling back as the chanting continued, shrinking slowly. It was energy-intensive, and after observing her struggle, Harry reluctantly placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing magic into her. The visible strain on her lessened, but she didn't let up.

Whatever ritual she was performing was causing Hermione to stir, face contorted in discomfort, and apparent pain. If it was from the initial curse or the subsequent treatment, he could not discern. The affected area had now disappeared under the gown and presumably towards its initial impact point.

With a final push from both of them, a pale yellowish mass was expelled. Hermione cried out in pain, then fainted.

The Hag staggered towards the chair, drained.

Harry kneeled down, running his hand over the younger Woman's damp forehead.

"The Amulet," the hag rasped. Her arm was held out, shaking. Harry regarded her, the affronted item in his hand. He didn't know why she coveted it so, but wouldn't about to go back on his word.

"Here." The heavy piece fell into her waiting hands. "You have my thanks."

She slumped in relief, clutching it to her chest. Mustering the energy to stand, yet alone move, surprised him. The team effort had left him feeling winded. What would she, over a century his elder, feel like?

He was about to tell her not to overdo it, but his Inspector was stirring, causing him to refocus his attention to her.

"Shh, don't strain yourself." He whispered, still stroking her hair. The shock to her body had been significant, and it took several minutes to regain her senses.

"Harry." She croaked, hand reaching out. He took it, squeezing gently and rubbing circles on the smooth skin.

"What happened?"

"We were attacked." He explained. "You just woke up. It's been over a week since the Festival."

"Oh." It seemed that she hadn't quite shaken the confusion.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry for endangering you like this. I-I should have protected you."

She smiled, a bit surprised at the soft side he was showing her. "I'm still alive, aren't I? Seems to me you were able to keep me safe after all."

She noticed the cobweb filled rafters above, and the tops of the tallest bookshelves, causing her brows to furrow in confusion. "But I must ask. Where are we?"

Harry swallowed. "That is a story for another time. We should leave."

On cue, a gut-wrenching scream echoed around the room, dampened but still audible. Harry shot to his feet, wand pointed towards the source of the noise. He pocketed the book that had fallen to the floor earlier. With some difficulty, she extracted herself as well, concerned by the horrible noise.

Harry handed her his backup wand, but instead of moving towards the exit, ventured ahead, towards the source of the scream. A bookshelf had been moved aside, revealing a stone archway and narrow steps.

A second scream, this one much louder found their ears. They looked at one another, acknowledging they had to investigate. His rubber-soled boots clunked, while her bare feet tapped down the spiral stairs. There were no torches, no windows, and no light apart from his lit wand.

Round and round it went, deep into the earth. Wherever this place really was, it had taken a lot of work to excavate. Faint flickering yellow light finally marked the bottom; and the source of the noises.

Across a large, stone arched subterranean hall stood a woman, and three occupied chairs. Unnoticed by her, they moved closer. The Woman spread her arms, head craned backward and up, and the last of what they now knew to be young men screamed, aging rapidly in front of their very eyes, before wheezing one last time, and expiring.

"Merde!" Hermione muttered, wand raised. The Woman, who had long, jet black hair, shifted her head, no doubt having picked up the whispered curse.

"You're still here? How disappointing, I thought you smarter than that."

Harry too raised his wand, realizing this was the old hag. She turned, now perhaps the same age as them, if not younger. She had fair features, with smooth, cream-colored skin and full lips. Her eyes were a bright blue color that almost sparkled in the candlelight.

Gone was the shrunken, hunched over fossil he'd begged to help. The gray, ill-fitting clothes were tight in a number of places, showing off plenty of skin.

"I should thank you for bringing back Aqen. Without it, and you, these past few years would no doubt have been my last."

"Who are you, really?" He asked, realizing with dread that he'd just condemned three young lives by upholding his end of the bargain.

Beside him, Hermione, who knew even less, was appalled by what she'd just seen. Why had Harry brought her here? Did he somehow know her?

"Morgne you called me in that deserted street, but I'm far better known by another name." She offered as a hint.

"Morgne?" Hermione repeated, eyes widening. "As in Morgan? Morgan Le Fay?"

The woman clapped her hands together and took a few steps towards them. "Very good." She congratulated. "Now though, you must die. I do not wish for anyone to become aware of my return just yet. Actions, necessary ones, will herald my return to this Earth, in time."

Rummaging through a pocket, the thief pulled two stoppered vials and handed one to his companion. Draining it quickly steam billowed from his ears. She quickly followed suit.

The Woman meanwhile looked amused.

"You think to fight? Fools, there is no one who can rival me!"

Actually, Hermione could think of one, with pale skin and ruby red eyes that shone with malice. 'This better not be another repeat of Mont-Saint-Michel' she thought, tightening her grip on the spare wand.

"Head for the stairs," he whispered. "Don't use your wand unless absolutely necessary. I will be right behind you."

Reluctantly she agreed. This wand did not suit her. She could feel it. She would be at a disadvantage.

A lighting quick animal conjuration blocked the Killing Curse that would have found her back. Before Le Fey could follow up with another, the stone floor heaved up, blocking the retreating Inspector from further harm. He managed to shield when a huge block of the floor turned wall blasted him sideways, the sheer force propelling him into the shelf containing delicate glass tubes and coils, showering him with shards.

Disillusioning himself he rolled, avoiding a follow-up Avara Kedava that gouged a fist-sized chunk of stone out of the floor. A lumos maxima followed by a smoke screen further hid him, allowing him to disengage using the same line Hermione had fifteen seconds earlier. Running flat out, he made it to the stairs just as a curse slammed into the wall, a hand width to his right.

The stone chips stung as they bit into his cheek and neck, but he pushed on, climbing three steps at a time. A surprised scream from up above signaled something was wrong, right as the horizontal treads angled downward, turning their means of escape into a slide back towards danger.

Harry managed to transfigure a spur before he could pick up too much momentum, but nearly fell back when Hermione slammed into him a few seconds after. Majiking the spur into a thin wedge, it ground its way up under his continuous input.

A whoosh of noise from below gave them a few seconds warning. Hermione, despite the unfamiliar wand, managed to cast a flame freezing charm on them both, as well as a bubblehead charm.

The magical fire was hot, but her enchantment held. They shot from the narrow opening like a bullet leaving a gun barrel, flames licking at the opening, and catching a few of the centuries-old parchment rolls on fire.

Picking himself up, Harry fired a Bombarda Maxima into the opening, impacting the ceiling a few meters in as it angled down, parallel to the stairs turned slide. Not taking any chances with the Evil insane woman, they hightailed it through the cluttered space, Harry leading the way.

There was the door! From behind them came a roar of anger. He reached out, hitting it with the best unlocking spell he could think of, and damn near ripped the leaf off its hinges. Hermione didn't even slow down, running full speed through the threshold and into the warm sunshine of…Paris?

Harry threw himself after her, narrowly avoiding a Hoarfrost attack. Somehow she'd managed to follow them up the winding stairs, eager to cut their escape short. The Chapel door slammed shut and he quickly locked the door with the key the not quite old Hag had given him.

The banging ceased, and he exhaled in relief, forcefully thumping his forehead into the wood.

"Merlin Pup, you sure know how to have fun." A voice from behind him stated.

Whipping around, wand at the ready were…"Remus and Sirius?" he asked, lowering the wand.

"See, and you said he wouldn't remember." The Moustached man lightly smacked his companion's shoulder with the back of his fingers.

oOo

De ja vu was all he could think of as they sat in Dumbledore's office once more. This time, however, it seemed they (well he) were genuinely in trouble.

When he entered, Dumbledore didn't immediately speak. Instead, the stone bowl rose from its legs and floated over, coming to rest on the desk.

"Show me. Everything from the moment you decided to leave this place eight days ago, until your return today."

It wasn't a request. So he did. The reason for reaching out to Morgne, the deal, the Flamel job. He pooled the memories, linked them to play in order and flicked the long, coiled strand into the bowl, turning it from clear to a dark, murky diluted ink.

"See for yourself, Headmaster." Harry tapped the tip lightly on the edge of the stone bowl, looking…angry? Without a moment's hesitation Dumbledore dove in. Hermione turned her head, as if asking if it was all right if she joined in. Harry shrugged in response, grabbed her hand and leaned forward.

Dumbledore was already in the streets when they joined him, just in time for memory Harry to declare his intentions towards Morgne. The headmaster closed his eyes, cursing Voldemort, this war, and the very thing the boy had no doubt unintentionally unleashed upon this world.

He marveled at the way Morgan Le Fay had hidden and sustained herself, using truly desperate souls and old pagan rituals to ilk a few more years from each healthy, willing victim, gaining a fraction of their life force to prolong her own.

Albus was equally impressed with the speed and drive that Harry had pulled the job no one thought possible. Hermione especially took great interest in his work, for the first time able to observe just how he operated. Using the Barge was a stroke of brilliance.

When they re-emerged, Dumbledore's worst fears had been realized. She was back, and planned to continue her wicked work.

"You are lucky to be alive." He stated, regarding them both. "Morgan Le Fay has been on this Earth longer even then the man Harry robbed last night. She comes from the days of Merlin himself, but the many years she's stolen from innocents has warped her mind."

"Monsieur Dumbledore, what did she mean by necessary actions?" The Inspector asked, recalling their brief interaction before she attacked.

"The answer to that very important question begins with an event called the Justinian Plague, now nearly fifteen hundred years in the past."

"She caused a plague?" Harry leaned forward, scarcely believing his ears.

"Oh, not just one." He whispered. "Many. Morgan Le Fay is single-handedly responsible for more deaths than any other person in history. Her crowning achievement was the Black Death in the mid-fourteenth century, and she'd operated as recently as the 1920's before being caught."

"The Spanish Flu?" Hermione chipped in, recognizing the significance of the date. "But why? Why would she do this?"

Dumbledore leaned back.

"That, I'm afraid I do not know." he admitted with a sigh.

"But she was caught!" Harry confirmed. "Which means we can do so again, right?"

"I wish it were so simple Harry. An international manhunt followed after it was found out she was behind the outbreak. It took thousands of Wizards months to find her." He shook his head. "For one person, or even a few dozen like the Order to find her…" he shook his head. "She's had well over a millennia to absorb knowledge. Her ways eluded the greatest minds of the nineteenth century."

He unfolded his hands and pointed at Harry's leg. "That key in your pocket is a powerful magical device. I've only come across snippets regarding its uses, and never so much as an explanation on how to recreate it. From what I can tell, it creates a portal that will take you to her lair. No doubt she's already locked you out, but it is magic like this that will make the task of finding her very difficult indeed."

"So you're saying she has unrivaled knowledge even Voldemort couldn't match, and a desire to wipe out a significant portion of the human population."

Harry jumped from the chair and began pacing. "And were it not for me, she'd likely have died in the near future, ending her horrible spree."

"Harry, we don't blame you for what you did." Hermione tried to soothe. "You were desperate, and had no ide-"

"I gave her the amulet willingly after she'd already healed you!" he shouted, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't need to do it. Merde, my gut was telling me to double-cross her. But I didn't. I honored my end of the bargain."

Neither Dumbledore nor Hermione spoke. "I steal things Hermione. My honor is all I have. Without it I'd become the very thing you despise so greatly."

Her eyes widened. Is that what he thought?

"I need to make this right, before it gets any worse." Harry stormed from the office, headed for parts unknown. She made to follow but Dumbledore stopped her.

"Give him some space." He suggested. "At best you'll get an argument. Guilt is a powerful emotion. It can become all-consuming."

She sighed, moving on. Much had happened during her unwelcome stasis. His memories had provided a lot of answers, but also raised many more questions, the most important of which was; who had told Voldemort that they were attending the street festival?

"Someone tipped off the Death Eaters about our whereabouts that night." She stated, idly chewing her lip. "Monsieur Dumbledore, you have in all likelihood, a spy in your organization."

The accomplished man stroked his beard, in thought. "I fear you are correct Inspector. Can you describe your departure from Headquarters? Leave out no detail. Perhaps we can narrow down the list of suspects."

oOo

Tonks stepped into the kitchen to find a mop of black hair resting on the table, a bottle of Fire whiskey resting next to…it. "Well, this saves me a lot of work." She stated, before slapping a pair of cuffs on his wrists.

Confused, he looked up, then at his hands, and finally at her. "Is this because of the Omnioculars?" he stated.

She just stood there, hands on her hips.

Rolling his eyes, Harry performed a partial transformation, shrinking his wrists just enough for the muggle shackles to slide off.

"Hey, how'd you do that?" she asked.

Harry took a swig of the bottle and belched fire. "Trade secret."

Feeling sorry for him, she pulled up a seat. "You know, it's weird seeing you like this. You're usually so… suave."

"Suave?" he snorted.

She shrugged. "You know. Cool. Composed. I have it on good authority that you're the darling of the grapevine with the female Order members." She was referring to herself, Hestia Jones, and Ginny Wesley, who'd dreamt up all sorts of saucy scenarios involving the devilish rouge in their midst.

That was, until he'd gotten himself caught up in a firefight five blocks away and ended up taking some of her equipment later that night to rob one of the Boss's most important friends.

"Hmm, I'll take your word for it."

She grabbed the bottle and took a good-sized pull from it. "So what's got you in the dumps like this? Shouldn't you be happy your girl is back on her feet?"

"Perhaps I'm celebrating." He responded dryly, staring at the blank wall opposite his seat. To be honest, for once he didn't mind the Auror's presence, the possibility of her being the spy that caused the attack aside.

In the last three days, while organizing the logistics of the Flamel heist(it felt more like a smash and grab to be honest), he'd been giving the matter a lot of thought. No one saw them leave, and there were no trackers on either him or Hermione. Was the location of the Order of the Phoenix's base compromised? The alley they apparated into was deserted, but the balcony could be watched from afar.

No, even if someone had seen them apparate, they would have had no idea what the destination was. Someone had tracked them visually. Someone who could see through solid objects.

Tonks possessed Omnioculars for such a purpose. It was how he'd come to the conclusion in the first place, using them to observe the Flamels. Dumbledore had a similar device, the magnifying glass.

And then there was Moody, and his magical eye.

Three persons of interest, and every one of them seemed unlikely. Of course, there could be others with the same gear as the Auror and the Headmaster. The question now was, how to go about exposing the spy?

That was the part he hadn't figured out yet. How do you identify someone who could potentially watch your every move, listen to every conversation by reading your lips, all without ever having to break character?

The short answer is, you couldn't. Any attempt at counter-surveillance would be noted. It was like trying to hide something in a glasshouse.

A few minutes passed as they both reflected on the day's events.

"What was a sleek move you pulled with the vault and the Barge." She complimented.

Investigating theft wasn't something she had a lot of experience with. Witches and Wizards did not take wards lightly, and very rarely did property crime occur. It was beautifully executed, and despite being at the scene a mere forty minutes later, they'd found no one, not even the muggles he'd hired to torch out a new door to gain entry.

He shook his head. "Not my best work. Too sloppy, too rushed." He traced random patterns on the table, thinking back to the few jobs he'd actually been able to recall doing.

"I prefer to take my time, exploring, probing, and eventually coaxing the secrets from whatever barriers put in place to stop me."

"To simply cut a vault open like this…just felt wrong." He finished with a sigh.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. He spoke as though the Flamel Vault had been a girl. She wondered if he was a decent lover, the way he described his work.

"Why did you rush?" she wondered. "Heck, why steal from the Famous Alchemist in the first place?"

"It was a means to an end. Part of a bargain to save Hermione's life."

Tonks wasn't getting anywhere. Did he feel bad about stealing from Flamel?

"Look Harry, I think I'm missing some pieces here. Why don't you explain from the beginning?" She suggested.

Harry looked at her, really looked at her. Was she the spy who'd inadvertently caused this whole situation? Would there be any harm if Voldemort knew there was competition for the evilest person on the planet?

No, he supposed there wasn't.

So he explained.

Half an hour later the bottle had lost most of it's contents.

"Bloody hell kid, that's what I'd call a shit sandwich." She slurred, agreeing that if their roles were reversed, she'd be sittin 'here getting pissed too. Oh wait, she was.

"Oui" he agreed, face flushed.

A shock of brown, curly hair drew her attention. 'Well,' she thought with a small smirk. 'let's see if we can't turn this thief's luck around a bit.'

"So, if you knew about Morgne's true nature, would you have even asked for help?"

He leaned back in the wooden chair, making it creak. "If I were standing in that street again, holding her, watching as the curse slowly did its deadly work…" Harry looked at her. "I would do nothing different."

"But would I give Le Fay the amulet after she'd healed Hermione? Not a chance."

"Good answer," she winked, then stood, taking her leave. Harry looked confused, then turned to find Hermione standing behind him.

But not for long. He reflexively held out his hands as she approached, finding her jean covered hips. First she hugged him, still seated, then straddling the inebriated thief and kissed him, hard.

"Hmm, spicy." She muttered, coming up for breath, and despite the rotten week he'd had, it all went away, replaced by a goofy grin.

Their mind-numbing make out session lasted until interrupted by the dual catcalls from the twins and a simultaneous shout of outrage from their mother.

They fled to their old room, which still contained most of their possessions.

oOo

Despite the pick me up, Harry soon relapsed, becoming more withdrawn and spending much of his considerable free time reading the now unlocked Manuscript. Its contents were nothing short of astonishing. Bethany Sly was incredibly knowledgeable when it came to healing and anything botanical in nature.

Married to a Victorian explorer, she accompanied him on many a expedition, and dutifully recorded her findings, discoveries, and the occasional adventure. Page after page he absorbed, beginning to form a picture of what must have been an exceptional woman.

On the third day, he came across the Ritual Le Fay had performed. According to the notes it wasn't an actual counter to the specific spell Hermione had been hit with. In fact, he had no idea what the curse had been.

Instead, the incantation prepared the patient to receive the castors magic, using it to push whatever ailed them out of the body. A purge of sorts. He remembered it had been exhausting, despite having a second person performing the actual incantations.

Its origins lay with a now extinct tribe in eastern Africa. It was fascinating.

Harry committed the long phrases to memory and practiced the wand movements several times. If there was ever a silver lining to helping Morgan Le Fay regain her powers, it was this book, and potentially the second one still with Dumbledore.

"Harry? Harry, are you even listening?" he looked up, seeing the frowning Mademoiselle Granger standing over him.

"Pardon, pourriez vous répéter ça?"(Sorry, could you repeat that?) he asked.

She sighed. "I said that I'll need to head back to Paris soon. My colleagues believe you've kidnapped me from Saint Louis."

He closed the book, sliding a bookmark between the pages. "I see." Harry pursed his lips, trying to think of the right words to ask. "What about…I'm not even sure how to describe it. Are we in a relationship?"

She sat down on the other chair of the seldom-used courtyard on the third floor. The sun was almost directly overhead, and the only way to sit outside right now was with cooling charms and a large sun umbrella.

"I-I don't know. I've begun to care a great deal about you," she admitted, to which he reached over and grabbed her hand, smiling.

"As have I."

"I'm just not sure how we can make this work." She admitted, and for the second time, Harry felt like he might lose her, although in a different, yet equally painful way.

"Why not one day at a time?" he suggested. "For now at least."

"You mean like we've been doing up until this point?" she teased. "Imagine the scandal, a renowned Police Inspector, in a secret relationship with the very Thief she is tasked to apprehend."

"Renowned?" he couldn't help himself. She swatted him for what she no doubt heard as a slip of the tongue.

"It does sound like the plot of a torrid romance novel." He agreed. "Perhaps the Thief just likes keeping his enemies close, non?"

"Some Thief he must be, thinking this must be a good idea." She shot back, liking this banter.

"I think it's a superb idea" pulling her hand towards his mouth to plant a kiss there, his green eyes locked with her chocolate brown ones. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a small smile. "So, where will you stay? I don't recall you having a place of residence in Paris."

"Ah, perhaps the lovely Inspector could make use of a devilishly handsome manservant that would cater to her every whim?"

Now she laughed, as did he.

"You are incorrigible." She giggled. "But I agree, under one condition."

Harry dropped the playful act. "And what might that be?"

"You will give me advanced warning of anything you plan to steal. You know, to even the playing field."

"Ohh, this is a dangerous game you play, Mademoiselle." Inwardly Harry was relieved she didn't pose the ultimatum regarding his favorite past time activity. They both knew it would likely result in them parting ways, permanently.

Plucking a loose page from a notepad resting on the metal end table to his right, he scribbled a note to her in French and handed it over.

' _We will need to fortify your apartment if we wish to make it past the first night.'_

He handed over the pencil when she reached for it.

' _I agree. Perhaps someone at shell cottage may be able to help.'_

Yes, Bill would be ideal, and money would not be a concern. Harry hadn't tried to access any of his numbered accounts in Switzerland, but the house held more than enough hard currency to pay for any Wards.

They still hadn't made progress with the spy, and assumed every conversation would be monitored.

' _Tomorrow then?'_

' _Tomorrow'_ , she wrote back. They'd send Dumbledore an owl when it was all said and done.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/** **N:** **I've** **revived valuable feedback** **from** **two** **readers** **regarding** **both this** **chapter,** **as well** **as** **the** **next.** **Following a** **fair** **bit** **of** **reflecting, I've** **decided** **to** **restructure** **both** **of** **these** **significantly,** **keeping** **some** **content, but changing** **and discarding** **about** **the** **same. This** **rework will** **hopefully** **be** **more** **in line** **with** **the character interactions thus far, which have increasingly drifted away from what I envisioned.**

 **Thank you Ericaldrius** **and** **Majerus, for** **your** **insights** **and** **recommendations.**

 **By** **backtracking already** **submitted** **work, there** **were** **two** **options** **available.** **One** **was** **to** **re-upload the** **chapters,** **with** **the very** **real** **potential** **for** **confusion for** **those** **of** **you** **who** **have** **read** **up** **to the** **end** **of** **chapter 11. The** **other, which** **I** **have** **chosen** **to proceed** **with, meant** **removing the chapters,** **and** **re-uploading** **them** **completely.**

 **Obviously,** **this** **results** **in** **notifications for subscribers and forcing many of you to re-read and make sense of the changes. For that, I apologize. And to make up for this,** **chapter 12 is included as well** **, as a thank you for understanding.**

* * *

If Harry had to describe her apartment with just one word, he'd settle for cozy. Charming would be another. It was a two-bedroom corner unit, located on the third floor, and while it didn't have much of a view, the location was still very much desirable, close to a Metro Station and with a supermarket just two blocks away.

He must have counted a dozen bookshelves of various shapes and sizes, all packed to the gills, the thick wooden planks bowing enough that he could practically hear them groan from the strain. There was a small television in the corner, looking neglected, and an old fashioned phonograph with a large, polished brass horn.

Hermione left for the Police Station late the following day. They'd discussed at length as to what she'd say about her apparent abduction by the evil and sinister thief, and her miraculous recovery whilst in his clutches.

Spinning her cover story in such a way as to say Harry had helped her would likely offset a large portion of his sentence, should he ever be caught. He had scoffed at the idea, but reluctantly agreed that one could never be too prepared.

The official version would be that he'd simply let Hermione go upon curing her, and when she had taken off the blindfold, found herself back in Paris, standing on the Eifel tower's main observation deck in the middle of the night. It was a bit corny to be honest.

There would be a lot of questions about the how's and whys, the biggest being who had cursed her in Madrid, and why she'd been there to begin with.

It was a taxing day for the young Inspector, filled with questions, medical exams by healers, not doctors, and seemingly endless debriefings. But she also received a good deal of well-wishers who visited frequently as word spread through the Europol headquarters, much to the ire of the Commissioner.

Despite being known for her frosty demeanor, many of her colleagues went out of their way to welcome her back. She smiled faintly, the emotion genuine, but tainted with regret over how she'd previously acted towards them.

The response caught many of them flat-footed. The old Inspector Granger would never have smiled at a co-worker while passing them in the hallway.

In the end, the Commissioner insisted on assigning her a protection detail, at least for a few days. Arguing with him that she'd be safer using her teleportation, as he called it, fell on deaf ears. Thankfully they wouldn't be staying in her apartment.

'Just outside the door', she thought meekly.

She saved the most awkward thing for last. Word had reached her that Cormac threatened to quit and search for her by himself, and to appease him, the Commissioner had given him temporary command of her old team. They'd actually banded together with minimal protest under the Englishman, something that surprised her immensely.

Perhaps he was more competent than she'd first assumed, though if they were to continue working together, he'd need some help brushing up on his dueling skills. The memory of him fighting Harry whilst carrying her was enough to shake her head.

Bidding goodnight to her two officer escorts, she stepped into her apartment to the smell of cooking food. And somehow he'd located her one guilty pleasure from the stack of classical records and was playing it on the Gramophone.

Thank goodness the apartment was soundproof, or else the two Gendarmerie would have been suspicious upon bidding her goodnight.

"Good evening, _Ma belle_ " he greeted.

"No." she shut him down with practiced ease, not liking this one either. For the last few days since acknowledging their relationship, the pair had been testing numerous nicknames. Hermione had decided on 'Mon lapin' meaning 'my Rabbit', for obvious reasons. Harry sulked at first, but quickly turned the tables by trying; Ma crevette, Ma Puce, and her least favorite of all, Ma sardine.

Shrimp, Flea, and Sardine.

Either he was craving seafood, or insinuating that she smelt, or was a bloodsucker. At least he was sticking to the more common ones now, cheesy as though they sounded.

He smirked, attention now squarely back to the sauce, which smelt heavenly. In the background, Queen's greatest hits played.

"Did it go well?" he asked, pouring a healthy amount of white wine into the mix. She pulled a glass from the hanging shelf and plucked the bottle from the counter.

"That bad, huh?"

The glass was filled past the halfway mark.

"It was a trying day, but all parties survived. You'll also be happy to hear that Europol will not be adding kidnapping to your rap sheet, Mr. Thief."

"What a relief," he responded with an unseen grin, dumping dry noodles into a pot of boiling water.

She took a sip, knowing the quality wouldn't be the best. After all, no sane person used a quality bottle on a dish. She used the spell Harry had taught her what felt like a lifetime ago in Théoule-sur-Mer and took another sip, humming in appreciation at the result.

"I fabricated a tale where, while on vacation, the traumatized Inspector discovered you were still alive. Tracking you to Madrid, I was tragically struck down by the terrorists still pursuing you whilst in the process of apprehending you."

With her severe injuries, the brief all points bulletin regarding her earlier involvement in Madrid was quickly dismissed. There had been questions, of course, as to why she was seen aiding the Crimson Hare, and why a thief would randomly begin cursing bystanders in the middle of Spain's capital.

She was able to convince them that the second perp was using Polyjuice, and she presented solid evidence in the form of video footage of her entering the night club during the same time. She'd edited the image of her 'companion' to complete the ruse.

Harry grinned, never figuring her the type to over embellish something as important as a police report. His theory was that she secretly liked the thrill.

"Let me guess, I took pity on you and tried to whisk you away when the Blonde Auror arrived, thwarting my plans?"

"Something like that." She agreed, head bobbing up and down.

He shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. Well done, _Mon sucre d'orge_."

She groaned. "Little candy?"

oOo

Harry did not sit idle while Hermione was back at work. Household chores were a breeze with Magic, so he was able to dedicate nearly all of his free time to Bethany Sly's notes. Initially, the information therein had focused on academia, with the odd spell or potion thrown in. Now though, it was almost exclusively enchantments pertaining to inanimate objects.

Harry dismissed the information as nothing special, but was quickly forced to re-evaluate his earlier assessment. For instance, there was a spell that would turn the old grandfather clock ticking away in the living area into a formidable defensive weapon.

He had attempted the spell on her toaster and fought a vicious ninety-second skirmish with it, thoroughly trashing the kitchen and part of the dining room in the process, before finally managing to put the thing down by transfiguring the ceiling light fixture into an electromagnet.

Upon animating it, the muggle appliance had become nigh impervious to magical attacks. It had succumbed to a pair of conjured wooden battering rams impacting it, still pinned by the magnet.

The magnitude of this kind of magic was awe-inspiring; And quite worrying. If he had difficulties with a small household appliance, imagine what the clock of that size would be capable of? Or an automobile.

He'd quickly become reacquainted with the ubiquitous repair charm, but needed to visit a muggle appliance store to replace the toaster. It had been beyond all salvation.

But his obsession with the book, beyond pure academic interest in its contents, stemmed from the lingering guilt of having been the one to restore Morgan Le Fay's power. Perhaps there was something within its pages that could prove useful in fighting her? After all, she had not known the specifics of the healing ritual, despite being aware of the book itself. There could be other information in its pages she did not know.

And they were somehow connected. How could she have possibly known what the passphrase was? The questions just kept piling up.

Of course, she'd need to be found first. With another wary glance at the clock, he resumed his studies.

oOo

The breakthrough came almost a week later, in the form of a message addressed to the reader, on the last page.

'The previous pages imparted onto you will aide you in this quest, should you chose to pursue it, with treasure beyond compare awaiting anyone driven enough to brave to risks. Knowledge is the prize, accumulated through millennia of human ingenuity, perseverance, and old-fashioned trial and error. What you've read until now is but a tiny drop. The first clue may be found on a rock of black, bearing three distinct tongues, but also imbued with a fourth.'

He re-read the page two more times. Knowledge. Knowledge and skills even Le Fay might not know? There was one of two ways to go about in combating her in the future, and he'd already increased the twins' funding in coming up with new, original, but above all practical advances to magic. The other was to dig back, far into history, and rediscover what was lost to the ages.

He'd stop Le Fay before she could complete her wicked work.

Rock of black with three languages. He cursed. It was the Rosetta Stone. He'd need access to the Rosetta stone, currently in possession of the British Museum in London.

That night Harry acted normal, having spent most of the day wracking his brain for solutions to this latest conundrum. Here was a solid lead. Tangible proof that his search might not be a wild goose chase after all, as he was beginning to fear before their run in with Le Fay.

But it meant taking a priceless artifact from a museum. It was the only way. The odds of being allowed to see the stone were slim to none to begin with, though befuddling the muggles is always an option, unsavory as though that may be.

But the potentially bigger problem with simply viewing it, and not securing it, would be the other interested parties, namely Voldemort and his death eaters, becoming aware of their activities. The spy in the Order only compounded things.

Voldemort was no doubt keeping tabs on them, and would surely know if they attempted to enter Great Britain.

It was too risky to simply visit the Museum, and negotiating a private viewing could take days, if not weeks, all while attempting to hide their actions from a man who'd been frighteningly good at reading his next move.

In short, securing the stone was the only option.

And she would never agree, Harry concluded, watching her eat from across the table. Would she forgive him for what he planned? Harry cared deeply for her. But if she could not accept his line of work, they could never have a future.

He fought to stay positive, wondering if this may be the last time they shared a meal together.

'Forgive me, Mon Cheri.' He thought, watching her smile as their eyes locked.

They talked of little things for the rest of the evening, and what outlandish theories they (Europol) had on his whereabouts. According to her, McLaggen had become obsessed with locking him up. His enthusiasm suited her just fine, as one could hardly pretend to follow up on leads when the person in question was living in her own apartment.

Instead, she distanced herself from the case, stating she needed a temporary break from the Crimson Hare.

Then the note came, the following morning.

oOo

'I will steal the Rosetta stone from the British Museum on the night of the seventeenth of August.'

It was left on the Commissioner's desk, along with a leaded Glass Hare Figurine while the man was attending a budgetary meeting.

Security footage revealed nothing. Granger was pulled back onto the case and ordered to assist the London Metropolitan Police Service ahead of the date.

Inside, she was livid. How dare he announce a heist, when she'd nearly worked herself into oblivion covering for him!

Managing to keep it together until returning to the apartment, she found it predictably deserted. The manuscript Harry had been glued to for the last two weeks lay open, and in a slender vase, a solitary rose sat.

She read the short sticky note with an arrow pointing at the open page, and after scrutinizing that, cursed loudly. Damn him to hell!

It was like a switch had been flicked. The easy-going, almost laid back Inspector the team had gotten to know and love over the last week was gone, replaced by a ferocious hound, hell-bent with the thought of feasting on Hare. That same evening, the MET and British Museum were informed, and early the next morning the team would relocate to London.

"Hermione!" the brunette turned, about to exit the office. They'd take the tunnel over to the island at six AM sharp, and she was eager to get some rest. The anger had mostly shifted to determination, but her mood was still quite foul.

"What?" She snapped, without really meaning to. Cormac frowned, concerned not just for her, but the situation in general.

"England is not safe, especially now. 'You know who' controls the Ministry. Please, I urge you to rethink this. I want to catch this _connard_ as much as you do, but he is not worth risking your life over."

"Man up, McLaggen!" she muttered, pushing past him towards the elevator. "We're going, even if Voldemort himself makes an appearance."

He watched the polished metal doors shut and closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the two way mirror in his pocket. Little did she know that he likely would.

oOo

Harry was nervous. To steal something while giving advanced warning to the very authorities whose job it was to apprehend him was the pinnacle of foolishness. This wasn't going to be a heist at all. It would be an assault.

And while he could have simply taken a trip to England and had it back at the Apartment within the span of a night, the agreement had been that he let her know. For some reason, he held that silly verbal agreement, made on a whim, in the highest regard. Idiotic, he was certain. The announcement, and increased security precautions, coupled with her surveillance, meant that he would no doubt make an appearance.

And even if Voldemort didn't know why he wanted the stone, he'd take it himself and eventually figure it out. Harry had to succeed. He wondered if she'd been surprised. Most certainly angry. He regretted that it had come to this. But he had his reasons, and hopefully, she understood them by leaving the manuscript in her home.

Setting the thoughts of the lovely inspector aside, he peeked through the flat glass roof lantern and spotted his prize, as well as a dozen uniformed officers hovering around, including her.

She wore a navy blue Kevlar vest, black utility pants, and her hair was tied into a medium ponytail. He gazed over the space, and the identical rooftop windows dotting the flat roof. There was a breeze, and a sprinkling of precipitation, though not enough to soak him.

During the trip across the channel, Harry had come up with a rough idea of how tonight was going to play out. First, he'd create a diversion. Hermione was incredibly smart, so the trick would be to not just attempt to lure her and the others away from the Stone, but instead, force them.

While the number four-room and its immediate surroundings were buzzing with activity, the Ancient Greek exhibits were, apart from the regular patrols, deserted.

The regular museum guards, he observed, stayed well away from the team guarding the Rosetta Stone, lest he impersonate one of them to get close. Clever.

Gaining entry, the Hare began browsing around, eager to put his newfound magical knowledge to gold use. A few pieces spoke to him, but the more ferocious-looking, the better. He stopped dead in his tracks when they came into view.

'Oh, this is perfect.'

oOo

From behind various statues and glass frames, over a dozen sets of eyes watched the lone Wizard continue his leisurely stroll through the exhibits, as though he'd paid admission. He was alone, far from the muggles guarding the stone. Since killing the man proved to be nigh impossible, their master had opted for a capture mission, though he could be treated as roughly as necessary.

The group leader, the same woman who'd survived the skirmish on the Abbey courtyard, gave the signal.

A dozen stunners raced towards their target, only to pass through what they now knew to be an illusion, which continued to waive its wand over the pair of stone beasts.

A gust of air and wet crunch to her immediate left was enough for her to instinctively roll, avoiding the snakehead on the beast's tail.

"Ambush!" she screamed, blasting the thing with a Reductor. The blast didn't even chip the marble it was made from, and forced her to run down the hall to avoid the same fate as that of McNair.

Even worse, anti-apparition wards had snapped into place just as the volley of stunners had been fired.

Having missed, the animated statue simply closed on the next masked Death Eater, plowing through his dark cutter and crushing his head with its powerful maw like a grape.

oOo

Hermione expected a distraction, but the frenzied sounds of combat and screaming were not quite what she'd anticipated. Resisting the urge to order a squad to investigate, she instead waved them over to the hallway from which the noises seemed to emanate from. The uniformed men and women, armed with MP-5's and side arms, took up position behind whatever solid cover they could find.

The disturbance was getting closer, which meant she wouldn't be tempted to find out what was causing it. The ferocious growls, and even worse, blood-curdling screams of terror, made her reconsider if that was such a great thing after all.

She narrowed her eyes. 'Damn you, Harry; what are you up to?'

On the other end of the long, artifact lined hallway, a group of individuals wearing dark robes emerged, running with some haste. The reason, or perhaps reasons for this, crashed around the same corner a moment later, plucking a straggler from the group and tearing that person in two.

Literally.

"Dear God, those are the Chimeras from the Greek exhibits." The curator, who'd insisted on being here tonight, said in exasperation. McLaggen drew his wand, as did Hermione.

"Move. Make a Hole!" she yelled, waving at the approaching Magicals to get clear. Fortunately, even Death Eaters weren't stupid enough to stand in front of a dozen well-armed muggles, and the second the officers had a clear line of fire, they opened up. The noise was deafening as hundreds of rounds flew downrange, peppering the mythical stone beasts with copper jacketed lead projectiles.

The withering fire did nothing to deter them as they went left and right, tearing into the rapidly diminishing group who'd taken shelter along the sides of the hallway.

"Merde." She whispered, before shouting; "Cease fire!"

Leveling her wand at the beasts, she tagged the first one with a sticking charm, effectively gluing its paw to the floor. About to do the same to the other, the first summoned enough power to pull the large, polished tile free off from the concrete floor.

Thick ropes coiled around both, which seemed to have a positive effect. Right until they snapped. She tried chains next. By then, the first of the Death Eaters had made it to the garrisoned muggles, and happily assisted the Inspector by inundating the two Chimeras in ropes, chains, and sticking charms.

The brief, but memorable cooperation was short-lived, however. With the greatest threat removed, the two groups quickly pointed their weapons at one another. The problem was, for every wizard or witch there were two muggles, and on top of that, these muggles knew shield charms didn't wrap around the caster all the way, from the way they moved to cover each potential combatant.

Of course, that was when _he_ arrived, flanked by two dozen back up wands.

"I must say, it has been some time since I've witnessed such an odd sight." Before the officers could even register the new threat, their guns were ripped from their hands.

"I suppose I could make your deaths painless for at least saving some of my incompetent subordinates", he stated casually, pointing his wand at the Girl.

Hermione forgot how to breathe for a moment, before slipping into a dueling stance Liese had taught her. Voldemort actually looked amused. That is, until the Hare's voice interrupted the odd proceedings.

"Touch her and I shall have your head, Voldemort."

The Dark Lord whipped his wand around, towards the location of the man who dared threaten him.

"Ahh, Harry Potter. The man of the hour. I was quite surprised to learn you'd survived yet again, despite my best efforts it seemed."

His eyes darted around, attempting to locate his prey.

"Well, you know what they say, all good things come in threes." The lights in a previously darkened area powered on, revealing the Thief, and instigator of tonight's madness to all those involved. He was clad in a black long sleeve shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. Flanking the wizard were the same two Chimeras who'd culled half of the Dark Lord's raid party, bright red blood still dripping from otherwise white stone. They paced around him, and it was clear to all that Potter was the one who controlled them.

"You should have run while I still thought you dead, boy. This time I will make sure you don't have a second chance."

"Sic 'em." Harry ordered, almost casually. "Target only those with the masks."

Voldemort made to engage the beasts but was stopped by a bone breaker from Harry, which he effortlessly deflected. With a snarl, he replied in kind.

Behind him, the now replenished Death Eaters regrouped to tackle the stone beasts, effectively leaving the Muggles to do as they pleased. Disarmed, with only a few still carrying sidearms, they retreated under Granger's direction, away from the escalating situation. She managed one last glance at the thief, who was once again battling the Dark Lord of Britain, this time on his own turf.

But to the Death Eaters, containment, not destruction, was the name of the game.

Potter had observed how his brilliant Inspector had handled his two 'pets', and threw in a half dozen Egyptian stone cats scattered throughout the exhibit to prevent a repeat performance.

Back in Paris, the problem he'd faced with the toaster was that the spell made the thing damn near impervious to damage. And it… morphed, becoming a quick, nimble and somewhat dangerous entity with sharp teeth, not to mention a heating element that was no longer on the inside!

The statues didn't need any of that, already quite menacing looking as is. The Egyptian cats did change slightly. Bigger teeth, claws, and the fact that they were made of stone instead of flesh and bone meant that when they tacked someone, that individual was hit with almost a hundred kilos of mass, condensed into a surprisingly small package.

Even worse, they were also next to impossible to hit, easily darting between the Death Eaters, whose chains missed, clattering across the floor of the museum uselessly. Within a minute the odds had again shifted in favor of the animated millennia-old granite sculptures, scattering the remaining Death Eaters into the wind.

Meanwhile, the duel between Voldemort and the Crimson Hare was reaching its crescendo. Two of the cats had remained behind and were dogging the Dark Lord, nipping at his heels. Several times he'd banished them, and he'd even managed to encase one in solid ice, the block spinning madly across the debris littered floor.

They, and the newly acquired bag of tricks from the Sly Manuscript were the only reasons Harry hadn't succumbed yet.

Curse, dodge, block and redirect. transfigure that winged snake of fire. Apply flame freeze charm to oneself because transfiguration failed. Snap a metal plate into place to block the Crucio. Get clipped in the leg by the split-second follow up cutter. Complete animation spell on the Isis goddess statue to his left. Blast Bombarda as Voldemort banishes your own stone ally at you, hit the deck. roll to avoid the fire whip that gouges the polished concrete floor.

The statue took the hit for him as Harry scrambled to his feet. The next curse took its arm off despite the toughness imbued in the object, telling him just how angry his opponent was.

Despite being at a disadvantage, it was Voldemort who was ceding ground, bringing them closer to the item he'd originally come here for. A Hail Mary idea formed in his head.

Blocking an unknown curse with a palm shield, he executed a spell chain, focusing on dodging anything thrown his way instead of blocking. The Dark lord matched the rhythm, favoring offense over shields. One of Harry's spells shattered the glass enclosure that usually kept greasy hands away from the almost one ton of granite inscribed with hieroglyphics.

It was now or never. With a bit of theatrics, he 'stumbled' over some debris, while silently summoning the stone with every ounce of strength still available to him. Voldemort was right in the line of fire.

Emboldened, and perhaps distracted at the opening, he never saw it coming. With a sickening crack, the edge of the rock impacted the back of his gray, bald head. Harry was so stunned, he almost met a similar fate. The stone sailed past, but he hit it with a quick impervious before the Isis statue caught it one-handed, the smack of stone hitting stone louder than any muggle gun.

Voldemort was down and out for the count. He sent a stunner at what must have been a corpse, just in case, then plucked the wand from his bony fingers. The wand felt oddly warm in his hand, almost pleasantly so. Liese mentioned that a wand's allegiance can change following a duel, but Harry had never experienced it before.

"Nice catch" he quipped as the statue walked up to him, its hand holding the heavy stone like it was nothing. Figuring the least he could do was reattach the arm, Harry mended his guardian, then shrunk the Rosetta stone and made for his planned exfiltration point, a spring in his step.

Voldemort was dead!

oOo

"Stop right there!" she shouted, letting a warning shot whiz by. He did, slowly turning to face her. From across the museum, screams of terror could be heard as the Chimeras continued tearing into any Death Eaters they found.

"Ah, Inspector." He couldn't help but play the role of villain, perhaps still riding the high of bludgeoning the Dark Lord in the back of the head with an elementary spell.

"Perceptive as always. And look, you brought a friend. I wonder if the two of you are up to the task of stopping me."

He had to admit, once her buttons were pushed, her temper could flare faster than a California wildfire. But it was a delicate affair. Any missed spells had the very real potential to cause horrific damage to priceless artifacts.

He blocked the pair of stunners, letting them reflect towards the ceiling instead of back at them. He was good, but there was a very real margin of error when it came to deflecting. The English Wizard attempted ropes next, which he turned to dust. A green stunner like the one in Madrid forced him to roll, right into the follow-up shot.

"Damn you, Harry!" She nearly screeched once Cormac was down and out, not concerned in the slightest that he'd just been felled by his stunner.

"What could have possibly possessed you to do this?"

She shot off a heavy bludgoner, which he countered with a conjured teddy bear.

The force tore it open, spewing stuffing everywhere.

"I thought if I gave you a warning you'd be all right with it?" he argued, knowing it wouldn't fly.

"It was a joke, you fool!" she shot back.

"Hermione, please. This could be the way to defeat Le Fay! Aren't you at least a little curious? Millennia of magical knowledge", he paraphrased, firing a stunner of his own at her. "Imagine what we could learn."

"You could have asked me first!" a minor spell chain followed the weak excuse, forcing him to shield again.

He barked out a faux laugh. "Be honest with yourself. You'd never have helped me take something as significant as the Stone, or even turned a blind eye for that matter."

"No. But I wouldn't have been against taking a look! You know, like a normal person visiting a museum would." the floor rippled beneath him, almost causing him to lose his footing.

"Only for Voldemort to take the stone shortly thereafter?" he argued back, hoping she could at least see why he'd acted. "Taking the stone was the only way. I will gladly return it once I unlock its secrets."

"Perhaps, but you went about it in the worst possible way." She shook her head. "And even worse, you made the decision yourself."

That took the wind out of his sails. Before now, he'd felt justified in his actions, though perhaps not the execution. Though for all of his reasons, she brought up a valid point.

He _had_ acted alone. His shoulders sagged.

"Hermione, I-"

"It doesn't matter, Harry." She scrubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, wiping the tears of frustration over his idiotic behavior away. "You can't keep doing this. I have to bring you in, or else risk losing my position as _inspector._ Imagine how foolish I'd look, letting you get away even though there was advanced warning provided."

This was it, he realized. It had been foolish to believe that they could have carried on a relationship. They were simply too polarized. To invested in their respective lines of work. He couldn't ask her to give up being part of the police, just as she couldn't ask for him to cease thieving.

The chemistry was there, certainly, but in the long run, this outcome was inevitable.

They stood there, frozen.

"You wish to arrest me then?"

"I do not, but I must,"

Fresh tears threatening to spill over. "I'm ending this, tonight." She said, blinking away the blurriness in her eyes.

The time for talk was over.

The dueling shield deflected the body bind, carving out a dinner plate-sized hole in the plaster wall, a mere inches from a no doubt priceless roman Bust. Their duel had dragged on into the third minute, and it wouldn't be long before someone would happen onto them, with the noise it was generating.

The apparition wards were still up and the Portkey he'd made wasn't responding. He wouldn't have the time to lower the former. In short, it would be impossible to disengage. Liese had honed her into a very good duelist, and she wouldn't hesitate to put a stunner in his back, should he try and run.

But for all of her brilliance, Hermione was still predictable. The major spell chain she was using had been pioneered by his former mentor. A combination of high powered curses and more mundane law enforcement spells, the former would strip an opponent of his or her shield, while the follow up was meant to incapacitate.

The casting speed made this type of attack tricky to counter, as most of the spells were colorless.

She'd just finished the first set of three. Obviously getting hit with anything in this lineup was bad, though infinitely more so if he were to actually become unconscious.

But there was one option, quite risky, but potentially enough to allow him to escape.

He'd have to trust her not to want to kill him.

As she finished cycling through the second set, he acted, dropping the heavily battered magical shield, and pointing his wand straight up.

"Reptilius tenebris." Translated from Latin, it loosely meant 'creeping darkness'. Pitch black smoke erupted from the Wand, hitting the ceiling high above.

oOo

Hermione reacted too slowly to stop her next curse in the rotation, in this case a piercer, though managed to alter her aim from center mass.

With wide eyes, she tracked the thin, shimmering bolt of light, unable to even shout a warning, it happened so quickly.

Completely exposed, and facing her straight on, the attack, meant to pierce a shield, bored a coin sized hole into his shoulder. He staggered back, the force of the impact twisting him around.

By then, the illusion had taken hold, quickly coating the ceiling, and oozing down the walls. To anyone observing, it was as though the room was being consumed by pure darkness from the top down. All light was absorbed.

Hermione cast a lumos as it reached the floor, leaving her in complete darkness. But apart from herself, there was nothing to see, not even the floor. She timidly stepped forward, pulse racing in her eardrums, expecting to be cursed in return at any second. Her shoe connected with something wet. With a steadying breath, she reached down, where her hand came away streaked crimson.

oOo

Pain. Pain greater than any he'd felt before. His plan had worked, if leaving yourself completely open to attack could be considered a plan. But the deed was done, and he was safe, for the moment at least.

Silencing himself, he gasped in pain, then cast a numbing charm on the now useless arm and shoulder. Up ahead he could see she'd lit her wand, looking around with rapidly moving eyes that saw nothing. She was also crying. Come to think of it, so was he, though he'd wouldn't call it that. Tears of extreme pain perhaps. Yes, much better.

Well, call him insensitive, but he didn't trust her not to stun him on sight, were he to suddenly lift the spell and attempt to comfort her.

At least the illusion had taken hold. The last time he'd tried it, Liese had managed to land a finishing blow, making this the first time he'd successfully used it and seen the results. The dueling instructor later admitted that she was basically blind so long as Harry was unconscious, and it wasn't until she left the building that his magic stopped affecting her. As its castor, he would be the only one able to see through it.

It would have been a good way to finish off the Dark Lord, if the incantation didn't take so long to complete.

A quick Episkey stemmed most of the bleeding, but not all of it. He tore a sleeve from his shoulder and clumsily tied it around the arm, underneath the armpit.

A proper dressing could wait until he was out of England. Harry jogged towards the emergency exit, mindful not to move the arm excessively, which was harder than anticipated. The door opened with a squeal, and under normal operating circumstances would have tripped the fire alarm. It remained silent thanks to his bypassing the magnetic switch at the end of the circuit with a foot-long piece of copper wire beforehand.

Over the years, the Museum had added building after building, often leaving narrow gaps between them that didn't serve a real purpose. The door he'd just emerged from led into this narrow canyon-like outside spaces, perfectly hidden from view and not patrolled regularly, not when the perimeter walls were five meters tall and garnished with razor wire.

Grabbing the broom leaning up against the massive downspout, he gingerly mounted it, pushing off. Only when he was hovering above the roof where he'd had the duel with Hermione did he lift the Illusion. Observing her for a moment through the skylight, he wondered if their relationship was salvageable. Perhaps once he finally figured out what it was his old self had searched for.

He had made mistakes before, but this blunder could cost him more than any physical treasure.

A few seconds later he was off, traveling south at high speed.

oOo

The Museum was a mess, and her operation in shambles. Hundreds of priceless and irreplaceable pieces had been either damaged or outright destroyed. Somehow, yet again, You know who and his Death Eaters had caught wind of Harry's plan, botching hers in the process.

Thank goodness none of her men, or anyone from the MET or museum staff had been killed. After regaining her sight, she'd collected Cormac before rounding the corner and coming face to face with one of the still animated Chimera statues. The thing looked menacing, with blood dripping from its mouth. But all it had done was herd her towards the nearest exit. Later on, she'd learned the same had happened to anyone still left inside that wasn't a Death Eater.

In the aftermath, they were able to piece together what happened after retreating from the wing through closed-circuit camera footage recorded to a third party data storage company.

Thankfully no one from the Ministry accosted her while sorting out just what had happened. Later on, she'd found out it was because their new Prime Minister, a man named Riddle, had been seriously injured in an unspecified attack.

Odd. She thought Voldemort controlled the ministry directly. Perhaps he was a puppet leader.

In a control room of sorts attached to a chilled warehouse, her tech specialist, along with a grumpy English man who'd been pulled from his bed in the early hours of the morning sifted through the footage, before pulling her and McLaggen in.

"Play it." She requested, leaning over a table, hands placed flat on the surface. A Styrofoam cup filled with coffee sat nearby, half-finished. She couldn't stomach another drop of it.

Had he managed to take the Rosetta Stone, or did Voldemort? The duel played out on the large center screen, and despite seeing it through the lens of a camera, it was a sight to behold.

That reckless, no good thief had actually managed to win through the use of the very object he'd succeeded in taking.

The muggle employee was bothering her with his stupid questions, and for once her temper managed to slip and she stunned him.

Cormac wisely said nothing, instead pulling him from the console before taking over the controls, having observed how to do so.

The Crimson Hare had stolen the Rosetta stone. But he'd paid for it, she noted with a remorseful expression, looking at her blood-stained fingertips. She'd made sure of that.

oOo

"Headmaster." Tonks greeted with a grin, wondering if this latest bombshell she was about to drop would be the one to finally do him in. She was wearing a very odd outfit, in the form of a short-sleeved white shirt, black pants, and an armored police vest. A checker brimmed hat finished the guise.

"That expression on your lovely face leads me to believe I won't like whatever brings you into my office tonight." Albus sighed, collecting himself for information he doubted would make his night any easier. "I believe a similar one regularly graced your features when in school, unusually after a mighty fine prank, if I recall correctly."

"Well, you're not wrong." She shrugged. "But this time I had nothing to do with it. Scouts honor. It was all Harry."

Dumbledore looked up. In the last few months since rediscovering the young man, it seemed every time he cropped up in conversation, it was for all the wrong reasons.

"I take it home life didn't sit too well with him?" the old man had ordered members of the Order to discreetly watch Harry from afar. The updates up until yesterday were mostly encouraging. He was staying out of trouble, the toaster episode aside, and his budding relationship with the young Miss granger had not yet imploded, as he'd originally predicted.

An odd couple, but love works in mysterious ways. Or was that god? Hmm.

"No." she agreed. "I'm pretty sure something in the book tipped him off. But about an hour ago he took the Rosetta Stone from the British Museum."

A pair of bushy eyebrows rose quickly. "Truly? Well, that partially explains your garments."

"Oh yeah. Do you want me to walk you through it, or use the Pensieve?"

Well, if she was this excited, they may as well use the latter.

"Feel free, my dear." He waved her towards the cabinet housing well used magical recall device. Tonks didn't have to be told twice.

"Oh, just one thing." She said before diving in. "You may want to call an emergency meeting. I think having everyone here when we re-emerge may be beneficial."

He nodded, truly curious what she'd seen. Sending a Patronus to Remus, he followed her in.

oOo

She'd been right. Except this didn't just pertain to the Order. Upon exiting the memory, he'd rushed down the stairs, his subordinate in hot pursuit.

"Nymphadora, summon Amelia Bones and as many of her advisors as you can. We shall meet in the great hall of Hogwarts in fifteen minutes."

They would retake the Ministry tonight.

oOo

Harry stumbled into a Magical Apothecary in Cologne the second the ' _Geschlossen'_ sign flipped over to show _'Geöffnet'_

He presented a badly scrawled list, his usual writing arm stiff from applying a triage spell to it.

The middle-aged witch looked at the list, then narrowed her eyes at him.

" _Junger Mann, denken sie das ich schwachsinnig bin?"(young man, do you think I was born yesterday.)_

Damn, was she going to force him to a hospital? He'd just needed those potions and be on his way.

" _Naturlich nicht, meine gute Frau."_ ( _off course not, ma'am_ ) He tried to smile. Perhaps she'd have bought it if he wasn't sweating profusely.

" _Komm rein."_ (come in) She sighed, lifting the counter, and he shuffled into the back room without putting up a fight.

" _Hinlegen."_ (lay down) She ordered. Well, so much for those proper German mannerisms. Realizing she was going to help him, Harry undid the partial bind on his arm and nearly blacked out from the fresh wave of pain.

The stern woman hissed when she saw the extent of the wound.

"You young Wizards are all the same", she chided, pushing him down and drawing her wand. "It will take a bit more than potions to fix this, _mein Herr."_ He'd have to ask her to teach him that spell. It worked much better than his numbing charm had.

"Harry." He held out his good hand, which she shook. "Nice to meet you."

"Hmmm" she responded, looking over the galleon sized hole in his shoulder. "You did well with ze healing charm," she said, switching to English. "-but we will need to undo it to properly knit the muscle back together."

Merde, he didn't like the sound of that. Even less so when she threw a clean dish towel at him and told him to roll it and bite down on it. Quickly pulling out a hair tie, she pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail and went to work.

The sound wards around the business were going to be tested today.

oOo

Elsewhere, the wraith of the Dark Lord was screaming in frustration, having possessed a random muggle and made his way to Malfoy Manor. The man had succumbed after a few short hours, forcing him to move on to the Malfoy scion.

What a pathetically weak body this was, though it was still a step up from the muggle.

Two groups attempted to retrieve his body from the Museum thus far. A body he vitally needed to regain his power. Both had failed, slain by those monstrous marble statues. Damn that Potter spawn! He'd no doubt used the book to perform those animation spells.

It was old magic. He could sense its power when they fought. Power that should be his! He needed that book. Thinking back to that fateful encounter only a few short hours ago, Voldemort replayed the conversation in his mind.

Potter had revealed himself with class, but only after having threatened the girl. She was a Witch, a given with the wand in her hand. But she'd also delegated the Muggles. Police muggles. She was the one who'd been hunting for Potter's alter ego, the Thief called Crimson Hare.

But he also cared for her. The threat was not an idle one. He'd slain enough people to know when someone cared for another, often taking a curse first in their own stupidity. Love was for the weak.

Harry Potter was connected to this girl. And she to his informant. He could use this. Perhaps they weren't on friendly terms now, but at one point, they were. He was sure of it! Potter wore his emotions on his sleeve, just like his father had.

Then there was the stone. It must hold some secret, or he wouldn't have risked traveling to Britain. Foolish boy. He could have simply taken it, and he would have been none the Wiser.

The door to the sitting room burst open, admitting a single Death Eater. Several more stood further back.

"My Lord, the Ministry is under attac-" the green light washed over him before he'd even finished the sentence.

"Potterrrr!" he screamed, magical backlash shattering the windows.

oOo

Granger walked from the meeting lucky to have retained her job. Commissioner Clouseau had, up until a month ago, set her as a shining example for all police staff in the precinct. Now though, that reputation was well and truly tarnished.

The silver lining was the footage she'd provided of the Hare's fight with Voldemort, and her own subsequent battle with him. Inspector Granger had done what even the Dark Lord could not. She'd seriously wounded him.

Remaining silent for much of the discussion between her immediate superior and the board of directors, she only spoke up when asked a question or to clarify when something was unclear. She was ashamed they thought her an accomplished duelist, when it was her very foe who'd taught her.

And how had she rewarded that trust? With a curse, that, had she not acted at the last second, could very well have killed him. Hermione shook off the guilt-ridden thoughts. He'd made his choice, going against her when she'd been ready to bury the hatchet, so to speak.

Cormac was waiting for her, and they walked to her office.

"I gather from the fact you're not packing that the show will go on?"

"Oui. And I know just what the next step will be." She answered curtly. Cormac had taken the loss at the Museum pretty badly at the time, and yet bounced back just as quickly. She decided to follow his lead and move on from what happened.

"I have tasks for you." Hermione started. "First, organize a Gringotts curse-breaking team and place them on retainer with Europol. I'd like them ready in two days' time. Use the third-party requisition form to clear it with the Commissioner", she added, knowing the question would come up.

He hastily scribbled down the information. "Got it."

"Good. After that, we'll plan the raid on the Hare's base of operations."

He looked up, perplexed. "You know where he's hiding?"

"Hiding? No, I doubt he'd be foolish enough to go there. But I have no doubt the ill-begotten gains of his labors reside there." Her eyes locked with his, causing him to shiver involuntarily. "It's time we re-patriate some of Europe's lost art with their rightful owners."

oOo

Three days later, she stood in the back of a police command vehicle, going over the plan of attack with members of Switzerland's Einsatzgruppe TIGRIS. They'd be the first in, conducting the initial sweep for hostiles once given the green light.

A few hundred meters away, the group of wizards and witches organized by the Goblins were busy tearing down the wards around the house. The greedy creatures tried to barter with her for a portion of the spoils within the residence rather than a lump sum payment, something she'd repeatedly and forcefully shot down. This wasn't some Egyptian tomb dig.

They eventually relented, but weren't happy about it. She couldn't give a damn about their hurt feelings.

One of the Cursebreakers radioed in an update, expecting the final part of the protections to fall within the next ten minutes. The heavily armed muggles lined up behind the Wizards and Witches, just ahead of the front door. A second-team would breach from the front, ascending the exterior stairs leading to the patio deck once given the go-ahead.

With a loud pop, the enchantments fell, and not ten seconds later a handheld battering ram made short work of the door.

She stepped through two minutes later, having received the all-clear. Not bothering with any part of the house but the basement, she led the curse breakers down the stone stairs.

"There," she pointed at the section of wall. "There's a room hidden behind there."

They cast diagnostic spells, and finally one managed to pick up the opening. "Wow, that thing is well hidden. How did you know?"

She ran a finger over one of the cold stones. "I've been inside. Now, get to work. This one won't be as easy as the first. He's encoded it with a Parsel passphrase."

Cormac, who'd been holding back, frowned.

"Hermione, how is it you know all of this? He asked. "Were you really here, with him?"

"I was." She confirmed. "And you wouldn't believe what he has stashed on the other side."

The team took almost a day to break down the last ward. Again the team from Swiss special police was called, and again they reported an all-clear following their sweep.

She stepped inside, remembering the place as she'd left it. Well, almost.

The Roadster was gone.

In its stead, a single glass rose sat, under a glass dome. It was the very one they'd made here, what felt like a lifetime ago.

oOo

Cormac unlocked the door to his still unfamiliar Paris Flat. The key stuck a little, forcing him to wiggle it until finally, it clicked. Damn that muggle landlord. Too cheap to fix a simple lock. With the horrendous rent he was paying, Cormac could live in his own house back in Britain.

Of course, now that the Dark Lord was gone, he would likely return soon to finally search for his sister. He enjoyed working here in Paris, but the people here treated him like rubbish, despite going out of his way to make an effort.

He flicked the light on at took in the sad state of this place. The washroom was actually nothing more than a loo, sink, and showerhead, tiled and separate from the rest of the space by a large, square shower curtain. Next to it was the kitchen, which was stretching the term. More like a hot plate and a sink, with perhaps an arm's length of counter space.

On the other side of the room was a small space big enough for a couch, which doubled as a bed. A boxy, wood panel clad TV with rabbit ears completed the picture. Not much, but it was good enough to sleep in.

Back when he'd moved here some two months ago, the handsome, tall Englishman had thought of Paris very differently, expecting refined, beautiful women, an active night scene, and good food.

So far he'd been worked like a slave, treated just as bad, and the girl he fancied, despite being English, could barely call him by his first name. He'd made progress, but ever since her run-in with the thief called Harry Potter, she'd been…off.

He couldn't explain it, and perhaps it was his imagination because he didn't know her that well, but Cormac thought there might have been something between the two.

The familiarity with which she walked around his residence, not interested in any of the items, and instantly homing in on the hidden cellar space indicated she'd spent time there. She'd said as much.

What had happened in the month she was gone? Hermione had all but handed him the reigns for the case after her return to the precinct, only to wrest it back from him after the note had been left.

And the anger. She'd been livid. Like it was the last thing she'd expected. He'd seen angry witches before, at his senior year in Hogwarts. Relationship woes, and of course he'd had his fair share of those. And this was right up there in intensity.

At first glance, he didn't notice it, but there was one change to this much-hated space. An unwelcome addition, in the form of a metal trash can. On it was a folded piece of parchment.

That alone told him enough.

' _Your lord summons you'_

Cormack turned white as ash. He wasn't dead? Realizing what the object was, he made to touch it. If they'd left it here, then they would be aware when he'd return. And making the Dark Lord wait was a guaranteed way to earn oneself a Cruciatus.

"Portus" he whispered, ripped from his meager home.

oOo

The can clanked loudly against the stone floor. Before Cormac could recover, a large brute of a man picked him off the floor none too gently and pushed him on, towards another part of the manor. He'd been here before.

It belonged to the father of that pompous arse, Draco Malfoy.

Speaking of Draco, why was he kneeling before him?

"Your colleague." He hissed in a different baritone, eyes bloodshot and lit crimson. "What can you tell me about her?"

"M-my lord" he stuttered, thankful he hadn't let his Gryfindorish tendencies come to the forefront by insulting the blonde wanker.

"The woman is observant and dedicated to her work. She is an accomplished duelist, managing to severely wound the Crimson Hareaahhhhrrrhhhh!"

Voldemort lifted the curse after a merciful ten seconds. Only when the pain stopped did Cormac realize his error. The Dark Lord had dueled Potter and lost, yet she managed to wound him.

"She is close to him, isn't she?"

Cormac's confused look told him as much. "Indeed, but how do-"

"Use her." The possessed Malfoy cut him off, not interested in explaining his theories to some lowly weakling. "Bring her to me. Potter must pay for what he's done. Leave this at her residence."

McLaggen accepted the folded piece of stationery with a deep bow, nerve ends still buzzing.

"Fail me and I shall kill you, and yours."

"Yes, my lord." He groveled, mind racing. The same Death Eater who'd brought him here was also his escort back.

Those arseholes had filled the trash can with rotting food and other refuse.

"Go on, get out of our sight, boy." One of the least savory looking of their number said. The others chuckled. Cormac obeyed without so much as a word.

It was odd to think that the run down, shabby apartment would produce such elation within him, yet it did.

'Hermione, forgive me.' He thought, falling to his knees and weeping.

oOo

Two nights later he stood in front of her door, a bouquet of flowers in hand and armed with nothing more than a smile.

"Cormac?" she was surprised, but opened the door regardless after seeing him through the narrow gap while the door chain had been engaged.

"Why are you here?"

"I-" he didn't want to lie, so instead the Englishman went with an abbreviated version of the truth. "I was having a bad day, and…well seeing you always seems to cheer me up" he shrugged. "So here I am."

She sighed. "Come in. I'm just fixing something to eat."

"Thank you." He said shyly. She accepted the flowers and went to the bedroom, presumably to fetch a vase. Noticing a long brown hair on the hanging black wool coat, he saw his opportunity and plucked it, carefully placing it in his checkbook.

He hadn't expected the opportunity to present itself so quickly but managed to recover enough and place his own coat next to hers.

"I don't suppose you'd like to join me?" she asked. In actuality, she was feeling lonely, something that rarely happened to her. The last time was when she'd moved away from home, to attend university.

As for now? Well, she suspected having a man sleep in your bed for almost a month would be a factor. She'd grown used to his presence, and now he was gone.

Her mood dimmed, threatening to send her spiraling down into another bout of depression.

"I would love to!" he said, sounding excited. Hermione smiled faintly, and the sight made his heart beat faster.

"So, what has you so down as to seek out your superior? Don't I punish you enough at the office?" she joked.

He shook his head, a small grin there. "Not at all. Work is the best thing about my day", he explained. "I don't really have any friends, and unlike your place, my apartment is a bit…well, it's awful to be honest."

Hermione hadn't considered that he might be struggling socially.

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that." She said, and genuinely so.

"No, no, don't worry." Cormac waved his hands. "I'm sure things will change for the better soon. After all, it's only been three months."

"That's the spirit." And then she actually patted his hand, causing his breath to hitch. Eyes widening, she quickly pulled back and cleared her throat.

"Well, I should get back… there" pointing at the mess that was her kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Sure."

He explored, politely, browsing the many titles in her collection of books, the plants, finally recovering from the prolonged drought when no one had been here, and…a little black notebook?

It was open, though wilted rose pedals covered its open pages. He read the note and nearly swore. Looking up, he noted that she was facing away from him, humming softly.

Could this be it? He'd read the note that was to be left here, following her abduction. It mentioned a manuscript. But this couldn't be a coincidence. A stone of black, with three languages! Merlin, he'd been here. Potter must have been staying at her apartment the whole time, at least as long as she'd been back!

No wonder Hermione had lost all interest in the case. She was with him!

Anger bubbled up. Had he bewitched her? Or was she just going against everything he thought he knew about her? Cormac collected the book and conjured up a copy. It would last perhaps a day, but from the looks of it, she hadn't touched it in some time.

A few wilted rose petals placed on top ensured she'd be none the wiser. Moving back to the kitchen table, he re-seated himself. Dinner was served five minutes later.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, and before long he was saying his goodbyes.

"Thank you for this." Cormac pulled on his coat. "I promise to return the favor once I find a flat with a proper kitchen."

She giggled, and the sound boosted his confidence. She was close, not intimately, but enough where it wouldn't look strange if he just…

Leaning forward, and down, he took his chance. She froze. It was a chaste kiss, and for a moment he panicked, until she reciprocated it.

The moment was just that though. A moment.

"I think you should go." She whispered, holding a hand to her mouth. He nodded. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Cormac."

oOo

He was so happy he could sing! A truly wonderful evening with a pretty Witch, and they'd kissed. McLaggen had a spring in his step as he exited her building. The positive feeling did not last long though, as the weight of the book reminded him of the task that needed to be done. He'd already risked much by delaying this long, but she had seemed in a better mood than usual at work today, and it had paid off.

Now though came the unpleasant part. Apparating to a densely wooded park, he quickly found Paris's bottom dregs. Drug addicts, prostitutes, bums. There was no shortage of either. Moving around in the shadows, he observed a few, but decided that doing so would make it even harder. Picking one at random he walked up, casually, as if here to do business.

McLaggen flashed a few hundred francs and the woman, if he could even call her that followed him into the poorly lit interior of the park.

"Imperio"

The sudden flash of surprise at the sight of a stick so close to her face vanished, replaced by an indifferent look. He plucked the hair from his checkbook and dropped it in a vial of brown mud. The potion fizzed as it came into contact with the last ingredient, and turned lighter in color.

"Drink this." He ordered. She complied. Stepping back he couldn't help but look at her. The woman he was protecting by doing this would never wear such tasteless clothes. It made the next step easier still. Imagining her with that thief!

"Avada Kedavra!"

oOo

Cormac panted from the exertion.

Shifting the body again, he walked into the Dark Lord's chamber, then placed 'her' on the ground with faked gentleness. He'd changed the clothes to something more modest, and believable.

"My Lord, there was a slight complication."

He didn't say anything and were it not for the book in his inner pocket Cormac was sure he wouldn't be leaving this room alive.

"However, your words rang true. The Crimson Hare frequented the girl's apartment. He also left this."

Upon revealing the manuscript, the Dark Lord hissed, and a truly large snake leisurely made its way towards him.

Lowering the book, along with his knee the snake grabbed it in its maw.

"You have done well, despite your inability to follow the simplest of orders. Now be gone, before I decide to punish you!"

"T-Thank you, my Lord." He hesitated, but deemed the risk worth it. "What of my sister?" she was his only family left alive, and he'd risk death itself to see her free.

Expecting another Cruciatus for the slight, he braced himself. Nothing came, but neither did the Dark Lord speak. A moment later the burly man who'd escorted him here entered.

"Show him to the cells. Allow him to leave when he's collected her."

Hope blossomed in his chest. "Thank you, my lord."

The clean, well-kept halls were a stark contrast to the damp, heinous smelling lower areas. Moans and coughs, whimpers. The noises were all unsettling. Scanning the emancipated faces, he searched for her. It did not take long, her light strawberry blonde hair an easy identifying marker.

She was far to light when Cormac plucked her from the bare floor. Her clothes were practically nonexistent, and he wrapped her in his coat. Sophie wasn't lucid but clung to him for dear life, perhaps familiar through his scent.

'Damn you, Voldemort.' Cormac thought, tears rolling down his cheek, both happy to have completed his goal and at the awful state he'd found her in. 'Damn you, and me, and everyone associated with you.'

McLaggen returned to the tasteless portkey the Death Eaters had provided when informed the deed had been done.

The second he was back in Paris, the Englishman apparated to Saint Louis, having gained familiarity with the Hospital through his many visits to Hermione some two weeks prior.

When Sophie was well enough to move, they'd leave this place. This entire continent.

If he had any luck at all, McLaggen and his would never have to suffer under that monster, ever again.

* * *

 **A/N: In** **the** **previous** **iteration** **of** **this** **chapter** **,** **Harry** **and** **Hermione** **'s interactions** **weren't** **as** **developed. Much** **of** **the thought** **processes** **went** **unexplained.** **In** **my** **head** **,** **I** **knew** **the** **whys** **and** **how's** **. But** **I** **did** **a** **poor** **job** **conveying** **this** **to** **the** **readers** **.** **I** **hope** **this** **brings** **the** **chapter** **more** **in** **line** **with** **the** **others** **, despite their** **apparent** **split** **.**


	11. Chapter 11

One week. That's how long he'd been in Cologne now, renting a room from the sadistic German woman who ran the Apothecary out of the first floor, and who had begrudgingly patched him up. His shoulder was stiff as can be, and three times a day she had him do rotations, stretches, and a host of other moves that would help speed his recovery.

In between all this, he was attempting to decipher the stone's secrets, with limited success. Initially, he'd been able to reveal the fourth, hidden text using a hissed prompt supplied by the manuscript. After that early success however, progress slowed to a near crawl.

To Harry, it was nothing but a random mess of characters, presumably ancient Egyptian, which he knew next to nothing about. Well, he shouldn't say that. There were two distinct rows, one of which could potentially be numbers, as they repeated in a way, but with minor differences.

Repeat trips to the city library had, at least, confirmed this. But what did the numbers relate to? It could be anything, and not being able to read the long-dead language meant that he was, effectively, stuck.

Well, not entirely. Harry could take the time and actually learn ancient Egyptian. Or better yet, find someone who already can.

In the meantime though, he was gathering information, much of it in the form of a listening device, placed under the desk of the Europol Commissar.

oOo

"Commissar Clouseau, thank you for your time." She greeted her superior the following morning, looking prim and proper. The man got up to greet her, then pulled out one of the two chairs opposite of his large, polished desk. The office was expansive and overlooked the glistening, sprawling Paris business district, far removed from the historic city center.

Over the last few days Hermione had met with her direct superior frequently, their topics of conversation mostly revolving around the Lake Geneva haul, as it's been dubbed, specifically its handling and the massive press attention it was garnering.

The young, pretty Inspector had singlehandedly shone a bright spotlight on their work here, and Clouseau could think of no one better to inform the public of the fine work they were all doing here.

"Welcome, Inspector." He greeted her, extending a hand to gesture her to sit. "I trust you are ready for the Press release?" he assured. She certainly looked the part, dressed in formal officer's attire, which she'd last donned at her graduation ceremony. She was a vision of beauty, and Clouseau had no doubts there would be a rise in applications to the division following the day's events.

Far below, in the sublevels of the building, a crew of officers was hard at work putting the final touches on a mobile evidence display that rivaled most of the museums in the city, ready to be displayed in the expansive plaza outside the building later this afternoon.

Already he'd fielded dozens of calls from interested parties wishing to know what would happen to the items, specifically those that weren't taken in the last few years.

Unconfirmed rumors were circulating this stash contained artwork that hadn't been seen since the late nineteen-thirties, before the Germans had looted the city. The commissioner wished terrible things on the person who'd let this information leak.

"Oui," was her response, delivered with confidence and pride.

Excellent.

"But what brings me to you this morning is a theory, one that is time-sensitive."

"Go on" he chuckled, having seated himself again.

"I believe the Hare will target the second fragment of the Rosetta stone residing in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo."

At this, the man's easy-going attitude all but disappeared. "While that is a sound hypothesis, I foresee multiple problems here," he stated, having an idea of what she'd request of him.

Rather than interrupt him and be denied outright, she patiently listened, hoping her pre-planned responses would be enough to sway him. The inspector swallowed. If not, then…then. Oh, it was too horrible to even think about.

"Egypt doesn't exactly fall under the jurisdiction of Europol," Cousteau correctly pointed out. "I would certainly not be opposed to warning our counterparts there, but dedicating manpower over this is something I cannot authorize. I'm sorry, Inspector Granger."

She exhaled slowly. "I understand, which is why I'd like to pursue him on my own time, with my own resources."

Clouseau sighed, rubbing his stubbly chin with a bear-sized hand.

"Let's say for a minute that I allow this, despite the fact that you have been absent for the better part of a month already. Without backup, what exactly do you hope to achieve? I'll admit that my understanding of your abilities is slim at best, but in every confrontation against this man, you've been bested, time and time again."

"I've been attending specialty lessons to improve my skills in that regard." She launched into the scripted counter-attack, making sure to sound as confident as she had when rehearsing earlier.

"Our last skirmish was very close. I've since unraveled his illusion-" A lie. Hermione had no idea how he'd done it, but planned to find out, in time. "- and feel confident that I can bring him in, should another chance present itself."

Her superior looked at her, and she knew in her heart that it wouldn't be enough.

"Hermione," He rarely used her first name, also a bad sign.

"You've come far in a relatively short amount of time. Your track record is exemplary, and your work ethic to be commended. But I fear your continued obsession with this case will drive you to ruin. I don't like it either, but the best course of action now is to refocus on other assignments. Proceed any further down this rabbit hole, and I will not be able to shield you from the Board."

She deflated at the denial.

"Very well, Commissar. Thank you for your time.

oOo

Back in Köln, the Hare's ears perked up. There was a second Rosetta stone fragment in existence? He glanced at what he now knew to be an incomplete, although substantial piece, eyes drawn to the jagged break on the top left corner. There was also some damage to the bottom right, but this was minor in comparison to the piece he now knew existed.

And in Egypt no less. Too bad she couldn't be there to stop him, he thought with a smirk, before another mad plan hatched in his mind.

Perhaps he could help her bypass her superior's wishes, and possibly right a wrong at the same time.

But his time was short. Shrinking the Rosetta stone down to the size and weight of a matchbox, Harry gingerly got dressed, an angry red circle standing out on his otherwise pale skin.

" _Ich muss gehen."_ (I have to go) He said to the woman upon descending the narrow, creaking stairs. She frowned, not thinking he was ready to go yet, but having little say in the matter.

"Continue your stretches." Was her parting advice. Harry nodded, leaving an unmarked envelope on the counter.

" _Vielen Dank fur alles! Auf wiedersehen." (Thank you for everything. Farewell.)_

She snorted, eyes returning to back to the newspaper that was spread out over the counter, ignoring the payment.

Harry covered two blocks on foot, before entering a parkade. He had paid the attendant in advance, and the man had clearly remembered him, no doubt because of the car and the generous tip he'd left.

" _Ah, Herr Schmitt. Sch_ ö _n sie wieder zu sehen."_ (Ah, Mr. Schmitt, nice to see you again)

Harry explained that his business in Cologne had concluded, but should he ever need to visit in the future, he'd gladly leave his vehicle here again. The man beamed with pride.

And he'd certainly earned his tip, Harry noted when he removed the fabric cover. The Roadster sported a fresh coat of wax that shone brilliantly, even on a cloud covered day such as this.

With a rumble, the engine started, making a wonderful sound in the partially enclosed space. He felt bad for confounding the muggle, but this way he needn't wait to reach a country road to take off. Tires squealing, the sleek Merc raced up the circular ramp instead of down, its engine roaring in the confined concrete structure. At the last second, its operator flicked a toggle, and instead of slowing down as the ramp ended, he gunned it.

The car soared into the sky, then melted from sight as the charms activated.

oOo

The Hare sat perched on the roof of a modern day skyscraper, one of over a dozen glass and steel monsters that made up the modern Paris skyline. Below, a small gaggle of people was gathered around the raised steps of the Europol Paris Office entrance, and adjacent to them stood a trio of commercial trucks, their flat decks covered by white sheets, the items underneath no doubt liberated from his now compromised estate in Switzerland.

He gazed upon the nigh invisible rope that led from the base of the flag pole up to the roof of the building one last time.

Leaping over the ledge, the Thief refrained from whooping in excitement, bringing the broom under his legs and turning the freefall into a sedate dive that leveled out right above the crowd. Of course, with the disillusionment charm already in place, no one in the crowd took note of the odd spectacle taking place above their heads.

A few minutes of waiting and the doors finally slid open, revealing her. Despite her best efforts, there was a little frown there.

Harry grinned again.

oOo

"Bonjour, Mesdames et messieurs." She greeted from behind the portable podium and microphone, kicking off what would become a front page worthy news event no doubt. To her immediate left stood her superior, the Commissar, and a stand in for Cormac, who for some reason was absent.

"Today marks a significant milestone for Europol's property and priceless art theft division, and we are pleased to announce the recovery of a significant horde, possibly the greatest in modern history, from a private residence in Switzerland."

On cue, the sheets covering some of the more flashy items on the flat decks were removed.

She did her best to ignore the near continuous camera flashes assaulting her retinas, instead scanning the crowd, as suggested to her, before reading from the prepare script.

"Through hard work, our dedicated officers were able to build a case against one Harry James Potter, who uses the alias 'Crimson Hare', and with the assistance of Swiss authorities, were able to recover significant quantities of stolen goods."

As expected, the questions began streaming in almost immediately, though the press had been warned to treat the young spokeswoman gently, and for the most part they took the suggestion to heart.

"Mademoiselle, what of the thief? Has he been arrested?" an unnamed journalist inquired, having been the only one to raise their hand, and selected appropriately.

"While I cannot divulge information pertaining to an active investigation, rest assured that we are working diligently to bring the perpetrator to justice."

oOo

Some twenty feet above, Harry readied the bag of faux paper money about to be dumped on the hapless muggles. The resulting scramble should be enough to occupy the picket of uniformed Gendarme and allow him to get close. The deluge of bills scattered, appearing from seemingly nowhere, and the reporter from La Tribune couldn't even finish his question as a body behind him slammed him forward, glasses flying off his pointed nose.

Police whistles and shouting ensued, while she cursed under her breath. That was as far as it went though, because moments later she staggered, the edges of her vision beginning to darken.

Her last conscious thought was identifying a small, black canister lying innocently beneath her, before she fell into the thief's awaiting arms.

No one in the mob noticed the speaker fall, or the black-clad newcomer place a red glass figurine on the podium. With a snap of the finger, a banner unrolled from in front of the glass façade.

One or two of the more observant Officers noticed the bright red fabric despite the excitement, but by the time they'd realized something more sinister was afoot, it was far too late.

The Hare had collected his prize and was already securing the carabiner clips to the end of the rope.

"Arrêtez!" one shouted, just as the money vanished in a puff of smoke. Dazed, the journalists now noticed the banner, the figurine, and the police bearing down on a dark Newcomer, holding the newly unconscious, young Inspector who was, up until a moment ago, addressing the crowd.

The rope frayed and snapped moments later, whisking the two high into the air.

Stunned, a few hundred sets of eyes tracked them, until out of sight.

"Quickly, to the roof!" the Commissar shouted, taking most of the officers with him. That left the reporters and other civilians, all of which now read the banner, superimposed behind a glass figurine of a Hare.

' **Europol has taken something precious from me. Now, I shall return the favor.'**

He couldn't contain his laughter as they shot upward. Halfway to the top, the heavy sandbag weights whizzed past. They impacted a planter box, thoroughly ruining the flower specimens within, and scaring the daylights out of a pair of uniforms close by.

The human missiles overshot the roof by a good fifty feet, but he nailed the landing with a wide area cushioning charm.

oOo

' **Notorious Thief 'Crimson Hare' strikes again, kidnaps prominent Europol Inspector during Press Conference'**

A black and white shot of the banner underscored the headline and managed to garner a variety of reactions from the group assembled around the long, wooden table.

"I think it's romantic." The red-headed freckled girl sighed, and almost everyone else rolled their eyes in response.

"Reckless and stupid is more like it." Alastor grumbled, tossing the copy of 'The Times' on the table. The twins grinned.

"Well, it seems she cleaned him out well and good," Fred stated.

"Sounds justified to us." Chorused George.

"That's enough out of you two." Molly lightly knocked their heads together, much like Snape had often done in Potions class. The spy and potions master showed a rare smirk but otherwise remained silent, no doubt drawing his own conclusions over the latest developments on the Potter front.

Severus had to hand it to the runt. He certainly kept things interesting.

"Albus, has he been in contact with you at all?" Sirius asked both concerned at his godson's recent escapades, and just a little proud at the trouble he was causing.

"I'm afraid not. After the message from Dedalus Diggle I mobilized immediately, but they'd already vacated the safe house by the time I arrived. The McLaggen siblings have since been relocated to Hogwarts." He added.

"McLaggen?" yet another Weasley repeated with a healthy frown, this one taller and skinnier than the others. You don't mean that ponce who was in Gryffindor, do you?"

Peering over his spectacles, Albus focused on the much younger man. "Indeed I do, Mr. Weasley." He stated, not expecting the young man to add anything productive to the meeting, but remaining cordial all the same.

"Why would Harry kidnap her though?" Tonks added her two cents. From what she'd observed, they had a very odd relationship, but this must cross some sort of line. Adding reckless passion to Harry's list of qualities, she realized that Ginny may be right. "Kidnapping someone in front of a crowd of muggle reporters and law enforcement sends a certain message, don't it?"

So long as he didn't keep her tied up in some damp basement, which she doubted, it was a checkmark in her book.

"That answer is currently beyond our understanding." The Headmaster answered, sounding frustrated at young people in general and their silly actions in particular.

"My only hope is that young Harry will not slip down the path of darkness by resorting to unsavory methods, whatever his goals may be."

"Unsavory indeed!" The Metamorph unintentionally said out loud, amused at his choice of words.

oOo

It was bright. That was her first observation, despite her eyes still being closed. A constant drone and the sound of rushing wind accosted her ears. She was sitting, or more accurately, slumped, head supported by something cushioned at the back, and cool metal on the side. The position wasn't very comfortable, but she remained unmoving, trying to make sense of the information her brain was receiving.

She was traveling in a car.

Her sleep addled mind struggled to recall how she'd ended up here. Hermione remembered people. Bright flashes.

The press conference! Focusing, she tried to pluck details from the memory, but it wasn't meant to be.

"Rise and shine, bon ami," a familiar and most unwelcome voice carried over the background noise, sounding perfectly at ease. "I know you're awake."

Bother! No point in playing possum then. She cracked an eye open, and couldn't help but gasp in surprise.

Water, as far as the eye could see. She'd been right, they were in a car. The roadster to be exact. Only it was flying, not traveling over tarmac.

"You charmed your car?" there was some disbelief, but mainly awe. She peaked out over the side door and straight down, watching the blue surface blur passed, a scant few meters below. The action was rewarded by messing up her long brown locks, which must have come loose sometime after he'd taken her.

Against her will.

Granger analyzed the situation. Her sidearm was gone. She hadn't bothered with one during the statement, deeming it both unnecessary and out of place on her rarely used dress uniform. He'd left her hands unbound, and a subtle scratch of her forearm through the fabric confirmed that her wand was missing from its holster.

She was unarmed. That limited her options. That, and the fact that they were flying over open water.

Harry hadn't answered yet, instead looking ahead, over the lacquered wood steering wheel. He wore a simple dark brown leather coat over a white t shirt, with denim jeans.

The outfit suited him, she had to admit.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione asked, deciding to cut to the heart of the matter. Finally he turned, looking at her, his expression neutral.

"To right a wrong."

The answer was cryptic, but she had a good idea of what he meant. "You have an interesting way of going about it."

Hermione's response surprised even herself. It implied that he stood a chance at succeeding. Forgiveness was something she hadn't given much thought to. She didn't expect it. Hadn't expected it. To her, anything short of locking him up seemed unacceptable at this point.

Hermione also noted that she was far calmer than someone in this situation should be. Perhaps it was because she'd just woken up? An odd mix of emotions warred within her. Anger, at what he'd done. Fear, for what he might do. A little bit of happiness even, simply because he was here, sitting next to her.

Part of her simply wished to forget about what had happened over the last ten days and just enjoy the ride.

But she couldn't.

Harry shrugged. "It was a calculated risk. It did not feel right, the way we left things in London."

Hermione wanted to lay into him, to vent all of that built up anger and frustration he was responsible for over the last week and a half. And yet, sitting there, she found herself unable. She must have replayed their last words, back in the British Museum at least a hundred times.

"I wanted to say; I'm sorry." He continued. "About everything. When I read about the stone, it was the only thing on my mind. I thought it was a way to stop Morgan Le Fay." He shook his head. "You were compromising to make whatever we had work, and I foolishly blew it by drawing my own conclusions about where this relationship was ultimately headed."

It wasn't fair, she thought, gazing up at the robins egg blue sky. He'd betrayed her trust. Endangered her life, and those under her command. A simple apology wasn't going to magically undo that.

She spent the next minute in silence, wondering how to respond. He was just so frustrating. Why couldn't he have just talked to her about the stone before setting out on this half-baked mission?

She shook her head. Would it have really mattered? Hermione would never have condoned him stealing it to begin with.

How did the age old saying go? 'It's always easier asking for forgiveness, than permission.'

She'd never given the phase much thought, though her own father repeated it often, usually when she was a little girl. She considered him the fun parent, helping her and her sister scheme against their much stricter mother.

She allowed herself to smile at the fond memories, but could also finally sympathize with her, having attracted the attention of a man not unlike her father, at least when it came to breaking rules.

"I cannot simply forget what you've done, Harry." She stated quietly, just loud enough to hear over the wind. Thankfully he'd slowed down, making for a more pleasant volume of speaking.

"Even if your intentions seemed righteous, and I'm not saying they were, the end doesn't justify the means."

"I understand." Was his response, given a little hastily. "And should you wish it, I will depart your life, and never bother you again."

He smirked then, glancing her way. "-at least your personal life."

There was that urge to hit him again. She cursed herself for allowing him into her heart. It would have been so much simpler if she'd just cuffed him back at shell cottage, and to hell with his memory loss.

But, she'd dug this hole, and now it was time to try and claw her way back out of it. Or dig deeper, her treacherous mind supplied.

"You'll continue on this path then?"

"Only if it is required to achieve the objective."

"Merde, Harry!" a hand combed through her locks, a frustrating habit she'd picked up since making his acquaintance. "You don't even know what said objective is!"

" 'Knowledge, accumulated through millennia of human ingenuity, perseverance, and old-fashioned trial and error.' Isn't that what it said in the manuscript? Knowledge like the animation spell that killed Voldemort. That seems very clear to me."

Hermione couldn't refute that, so she dropped the matter, for now.

"Where are we going?" she asked instead. His answer only served to agitate her more.

"Egypt."

Her gaze threatened to turn him into stone. If she had the ability, he would have already done so.

"I don't understand you. You say you're sorry, yet here you are, on your way to take the second fragment of the stone. What's even more confusing is that you're blatantly telling me."

He laughed.

"You value honesty, do you not. Well, this is me being completely honest." Another pause. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Please, enlighten me." She drawled, looking ahead with a frown.

"Secretly, you're grateful I brought you along. You crave the freedom, which is more than what your Commissar is willing to extend when you requested to peruse me to Egypt."

She gaped at him. Putting the thinly veiled recruitment attempt aside, he'd somehow known about her conversation with Clouseau. It did not take long for her to understand the how.

"You bugged his office?"

"I did." He admitted. "And I must thank you for making me aware of the second fragment."

This time, she did hit him. His laugh turned into a hiss as her second blow struck close to his still tender shoulder, causing her to cease her physical outburst.

"Words cannot express how much I dislike you right now."

He chuckled, massaging the tissue around the injury. Minutes passed, and he offhandedly added;

"I suppose that charge of kidnapping applies after all."

"It certainly does," she muttered, gazing over the sparkling waves, almost mesmerized.

The Merc's engine was purring, more felt than heard by its occupants. The sound was drowned out from the wind as they traveled a scant ten feet over the surface of the sea. Despite her best efforts, she found herself enjoying the experience.

She wondered what her colleagues were doing right now. What Cormac was doing. She thought back to their kiss with guilt, but the emotion quickly faded. She had no reason to feel guilty. After all, it wasn't her who'd broken it off.

Were they though? Separated? Done and over with? To her, it seemed like a clear and cut case. Heavens, they'd dueled the last time she saw him. She attempted to arrest him! What couple did _that_?

But did Harry feel the same? Was that why she was here, travelling to Egypt of all places?

By kidnapping her, he'd effectively reset the clock to before the incident with the Rosetta stone, at least when it came to Europol. She could hardly be expected to apprehend him if she was the one supposedly being held against her will.

They could, theoretically, start over.

Or she could use this to her advantage, and bring him in, ending this saga once and for all. Use their previous relationship to capture him. Resume her normal, if somewhat boring life, though she'd never have considered it as such before they'd begun traipsing all over Europe in order to recover his memories. Not to mention unravel that blasted manuscripts secrets.

She bit her lip, wondering how to proceed, and decided to evaluate his character further. Yes, he'd taken the stone and forced her hand. Was she angry? Absolutely. But he'd also saved her from Voldemort, not once, but twice! He'd stolen from Nicholas Flamel to save her life yet again.

She absently rubbed her shoulder, where the curse had hit, back in Madrid.

Harry was a good man. Led astray in his youth perhaps, and through no fault of his own. How would she have turned out, living with relatives who hated her? Would she be the person she was today?

Following the horrific encounter with Voldemort at the Abbey, Hermione had busied herself with uncovering his past; and what she'd uncovered was not very pleasant. It turns out the French police did in fact have a file of him, though again under an alias.

Dudley Privett.

She'd never have found it, were it not for a spur of the moment follow up with that English couple, and their revolting adult son, when she'd visited her parents in England. A picture had begun to form then, one of abuse, both physical and psychological.

The way they spoke of him made her skin crawl, and also badly want to curse them. Harry had run away, to the mainland. That much was clear. Now though, she knew why.

As for the file? Well, late one night, she found herself inputting names into the database, as she frequently did with cases that stumped her. Often, suspects favored familiar things. Names. Places. Dates. Both good and bad.

Privett, the name of the street he'd partially grown up on. Dudley. The name of the English pig, which also happened to be his cousin.

One charge of theft under five hundred francs. It didn't specify what he'd taken, but from the look of his far too thin face, her bet had been food. Whomever handled the case seemed to agree, as child protection and welfare services was involved almost from the onset, the charges quickly rescinded due to his young age and poor condition. The date of the arrest was approximately two weeks following his disappearance from England.

More than enough time for starvation to set in, though from the looks of it, he'd never been well fed by his supposed caretakers. The thought was revolting to her.

But following the handover to the child services case officer, he'd disappeared, simply opening the car door at a red light and walking into the Paris rush-hour crowd, disappearing.

Most likely to avoid being returned to his relatives, she thought. And who could blame him?

Yet despite all of the hardship endured, he retained his humanity through it all. Showed empathy. Kindness. Certainly never stole from people who couldn't afford it.

And he cared for her. Loathe as though she was to admit it right now, she cared for him also. Hermione sympathized with him. It was likely why the Inspector in her hadn't arrested him, back when they formally met at Shell Cottage.

But was it wise, continuing this relationship, when he'd shown no hesitation to continue stealing? Could she look the other way, if he'd do so again?

Hermione shook her head. The just and righteous side of her warred with her heart. Wasn't one of the first things they'd taught her in the academy to shut out her emotions? Criminals were criminals. There were judges that sorted out the reasons why, and dispensed the appropriate punitive responses accordingly. Officers couldn't do that.

Shouldn't do that, she corrected.

"At the museum, you stated your intentions to return the Rosetta stone."

"I did." He confirmed, watching her with renewed interest.

"I want your word that you'll do so, once all of this is over."

He inclined his head, stone faced. "Then you shall have it."

She nodded, clearly not happy with what was about to leave her lips. "Good. Then let's go retrieve that stone."

Needless to say, his surprise at the statement was palpable.

oOo

"We should arrive before the museum closes," Harry informed her a short while later, curious to see if she'd offer any input.

"Conducting reconnaissance before the heist?" Her arm was propped up on the open window, holding her chin as she gazed at the seemingly never-ending horizon.

He still couldn't believe they were going ahead with this together. Hermione was a decorated officer, and in a few short hours, they'd be stealing from the Egyptians together.

Well, not stealing. Borrowing.

"Of course." He agreed. "But also to take in the sheer amount of history there. Despite having traveled extensively, sadly the Egyptian Museum was never one of my…destinations." He finished with a grin.

"Subtle." Hermione snorted. "And most likely a good thing. Do you know how much paperwork is involved to repatriate the things you stole with their rightful owners? I can't imagine having to deal with ministry of antiquities on top of the already countless museums."

"My heart bleeds for you," he said dryly, once again feeling incredibly lucky he'd made a stop at the house to pick up a few things, including their current method of transportation.

She stuck out her tongue, before ignoring him once more.

Harry paid close attention to their interactions as they were now. It was a clear shift, or perhaps regression was the better term. She was more closed off. Colder somehow.

At least she wasn't going to arrest him. He hoped. There was always a chance this was all a ruse, and he'd wake up in a cold, damp cell the moment he handed back her wand.

Her presence then was a calculated risk. While he didn't need her assistance retrieving the second fragment, actually translating, and more importantly, understanding what was written on the stones was another matter.

She was no expert by any stretch, but he'd found that she was very adept at problem solving.

The multi-hour trip stretched on, and the further south they found themselves, the hotter it became, to the point where cooling charms were necessary. Now a flying car wasn't an airplane, and as such didn't come with the slew of equipment and instruments that would normally tell the pilot, or in this case, the driver, the exact position of themselves relative to a map.

Harry briefly entertained the idea of incorporating a muggle global positioning system, but was hesitant to ruin the classic interior with such features, convenient as though they would be.

A seemingly endless expanse of water compounded their navigational concerns, and as a result, the bright golden coast that appeared faintly on the horizon happened to belong to Libya rather than Egypt, as they'd later find out. Ten minutes later they made landfall, and the Merc was soon loosely following the uneven, often jagged looking line where barren rock and sand met the deep, glistening blue waters.

A pit stop in what they learnt was Benghazi took care of their bodily needs, easing hunger and the growing strain on bladders.

Hermione took over driving, or flying, receiving instructions on how to operate the extra controls for flight from Harry, and pulled up to a cruising altitude of several thousand feet, allowing them to extend their vision much farther past the glistening steel bonnet and three spoked silver star adorned to its front.

The beige and yellow colors stretched on until finally, the fertile, green plains of the Nile River Delta signaled their imminent arrival, it's dark, loamy soils and continual freshwater giving life to an otherwise desolate land.

Cairo, they knew, sat just upstream of its narrowest point, still too far to visually identify, but easily followed.

The sprawling city was shrouded in a haze of car exhaust and dust kicked up by their tires. Hermione 'landed' with skill and expertise that belied her lack of experience, seamlessly blending with the busy afternoon traffic of the dusty metropolitan area.

"Where to?" she asked, avoiding a battered Toyota taxi which had emerged from a side street without looking.

"Any hotel will do," he muttered, alternatively looking at a road atlas and the black street signs in order to plot their current whereabouts. He'd rather not pull up to the Museum directly with such a unique vehicle.

"Understood. Now, change your appearance. Your face will be on every newspaper and news station after what you did."

Hermione had already ditched her formal dress uniform, having purchased garments in Benghazi that were more suitable for the harsh desert environment, including a long teal colored piece of cloth that loosely covered her head.

Harry frowned. The authorities had images of him? Sketches perhaps?

Understanding, she added; "Europol has detailed headshots of you, both from the security cameras at Petit Palais, as well as when you met with the informant in Paris, before the assassination attempt at Gare du Nord. It was less of an issue when they thought you dead, but now you'll need to disguise yourself whenever we are in public."

Events from before his amnesia event. He was infamous. An inevitable side effect of patching things up with the Inspector sitting next to him. Harry had practically lost his anonymity.

Absently he performed the charms, and the castor's face blurred. The jaw squared up, cheekbones sagged, and his hair parted, changing color to a sandy blonde.

Their vehicle, now no longer hidden from muggle attention, drew a lot of eyes, though the attention was short-lived when she pulled into the entrance of the Nile Ritz-Carlton, located directly across the road of the River it was named after.

Harry looked around, his efforts seemingly in vain. "When I said any hotel will do, this is not what I had in mind."

She smirked, cutting the engine. "Be at ease. A high class hotel will be the last place the police will look. At most, they will have handed out wanted posters to the concierges."

A moment later, a pair of large, polarized sunglasses obscured a large portion of her face.

A uniformed, if rather young looking valet greeted them, his gloved hand opening the ladies door first, despite having to walk around to do so. Harry flicked the man a coin, in this case of South African denomination.

"Take good care of her." He urged, knowing the youth would do just that.

It spoke of the valet's training that his eyes didn't immediately move down towards the heavy weight in his hand, instead bowing and politely thanking the gracious guest.

"Good afternoon." The concierge greeted, uniform spotless and free of creases. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Nein," Harry answered with a shake of the head, figuring a German response would further allay any suspicions.

"Not a problem", the woman stated, smooth as silk. "I'm afraid all of our regular rooms are in use. Can I interest you in one of our suites? The honeymoon suite perhaps?"

He coughed awkwardly, and Hermione colored slightly.

"A regular one will suffice." Harry politely declined her offer in accented English. "Perhaps with river view?"

"Of course."

A few minutes later they made for the elevator, key cards in hand.

"Shall we freshen up and take a walk?" he asked upon exploring their accommodations, head jerking towards the window of their suite, beyond which lay the museum.

"Lets." Was the reply.

oOo

The fact that they weren't accosted upon nearing the Museum was a good sign. Their tickets were purchased from a bored individual with dark mustache and mocha skin using US dollars, who likely wondered why these silly tourists were visiting so late in the day.

But it wasn't his money, and they could do as they pleased with theirs.

It soon became apparent that, should a skirmish occur within these walls, the number of defenders he could summon would greatly eclipse those back at British Museum. Nearly all the exhibits were made of stone, with some pieces weighing in excess of fifty tons, and reaching nearly four meters in height.

Should he teach Hermione the animation magic? Or had she already read through the manuscript he'd left with her?

After ten minutes of navigating the maze like complex, they located their reason for coming here. Unlike the large stone fragment resting in his expanded pocket, the smaller upper piece of the Rosetta Stone garnered little attention, and was tucked away, mostly out of sight. It seems the Egyptians were unconcerned with securing it from his sticky fingers, despite knowing full well what happened to the fragment in Britain.

"What will you do after securing the second stone fragment," Hermione whispered, leisurely walking through the exhibits, before stopping in front of the object they were here to take.

Harry pretended to read the summary accompanying the display case, when in actuality he studied the glass case. Pressure switch, infrared and thermal sensors. The list went on.

"I plan to enlist the help of Fleur's husband and show him the complete stone. My hope is that he will be able to identify what corresponds to the numerals."

"Perhaps the second book in Dumbledore's possession may contain clues." She mused, pulling him along. It would not do for them to spend too much time at this location.

Meanwhile, her companion frowned. The second manuscript. With the rapidly progressing events of the past month since initially being lured to the then Order's headquarters in Madrid, he'd all but forgotten about its existence.

It was troubling. An individual of his skill set should not be this forgetful when it came to important things like this. Was it a side effect of his memory loss? He'd grown more used to it, with information often falling into place as the need arose for it.

Lost in thought, Harry let her pull him into the next space, which contained…a boat? No, it was Solar Ship. The hull was long and narrow, with a bow and stern that sharply terminated, flaring high above the deck. With such an organic design, the square box sitting atop the deck seemed almost out of place. Likewise, the sails, made from rough, white linen held none of the beauty the hull did.

They paced around the impressive display, and he found himself staring at the name on the information plaque.

"Mandjet" he muttered. The word still rang in his ears, uttered by a raspy, old voice.

"This-" he pointed at the name of the Sun God Ra's vessel, which he used to traverse the sky, "-was the passphrase for Sly's first manuscript."

Hermione's quick eyes made short work of the blurb of text.

"The Sun god Ra's solar barge, widely believed to be named Atet, and further subcategorized as the Mandjet, or morning boat, and Mesektet, or evening boat." She read aloud.

They looked at each other. "What are the odds that the passphrase for the second manuscript is Mesektet?"

"Very likely." He mumbled, wondering why Bethany Sly had chosen those specific names to protect her manuscript's secrets. The connection to Egypt was unmistakable. First the stone, and now this?

"Clearly whatever you were looking for before losing your memory has to do with Egypt, Harry. You are right, perhaps we should consult with Bill later on. He will know far more about the subject than you or I"

"Oui." Harry eventually said, finished studying the vessel. "Though you do not give yourself enough credit. Between your sheer intellect and his wealth of knowledge, the answer will certainly be within our grasp."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." A hand swatted him, but not hard. Deftly he captured her wrist, planting kisses on her soft flesh, before she managed to pull it away.

"It's not flattery if it's true."

Hermione laughed, more due to the fact that it tickled than the response. "You know, my mother warned me about men like you. Smooth talkers especially."

"A wise woman. I'd like to meet her in person someday."

The comment caught her flat footed, but before the nonsensical conversation could progress any further, the PA system crackled to life, a cultured voice asking for any remaining visitors to congregate towards the entrance, as the museum would be closing shortly.

"Excuse me for a moment, bon ami," he gestured to the men's room near the exit. Less than five minutes later, they were walking back towards the hotel, the sun nothing more than a dark red disk in the polluted air.

In a few short hours they'd secure the artifact, before journeying into the valley of kings to find Bill. Afterwards, they'd return to Europe and request Dumbledore for access to the second journal.

oOo

Forgoing the usual restaurant, the pair made the most of their sleeping accommodations and ordered room service, eating in bed while watching Al Jazeera. The news, predictably, revolved around yesterday's kidnapping in Paris. Both Harry's and Hermione's faces were shown, followed underneath by a slew of Arabic racing from right to left at a pace that made reading a difficult prospect.

"Thank goodness for glamours", Harry muttered, tearing a chunk of breaded chicken finger away with his teeth. A plate of Frites (no one called them 'French Fries' where they were from) and a chilled soda rested on the nightstand, though the former's numbers dropped by a handful when his soon to be partner in crime leaned over and stole a few.

"You seem to have no qualms taking things of mine, Inspector." He stated cheekily, to which she responded by purposely dropping one of the wedges on his face.

"Opps." Hermione managed.

The food forgotten, Harry went on the offensive, salt-covered fingers attacking her hopefully vulnerable sides. Focusing on the incantation of a tickling charm, the magic rushed to the tips of his digits. Wandless magic was very wasteful, but the result was effective and well worth it.

She shrieked in surprise, nearly dropping her prize in the process. Food soon forgotten, they rolled around on the obscenely large bed for the sheer novelty of it, wrestling, tickling, and laughing.

She managed to pin his accosting hands with her own, but the action left her vulnerable to counterattack. Harry summoned the strength to lift his head, and kissed her. Hermione instinctively pulled back, the move having the desired effect, and allowed him to capitalize on it.

Moments later, the roles were reversed.

Damn, she'd gotten carried away again. Is was just so natural with him. Fun.

She squirmed a bit, putting up a token fight, though he did not hold her firmly, and both knew it. He'd be her downfall, she thought, loosing herself in those bright, green eyes.

"Merde, I was such a fool for ever pushing you away." Throwing caution into the wind, she captured his lips, before falling back into the sheets, still kissing.

"We're both fools," she panted when he finally pulled up for air.

oOo

They donned the dark, stereotypical clothes usually associated with individuals involved in criminal and morally illicit activities. Harry sustained further physical abuse when he complemented that the outfit suited her.

"Your wand," he produced the thin stick of wood as she finished tying up the black boots he'd supplied.

Hermione plucked a cheap, mass-produced replica of a pharaoh bust from one of the dressers and accepted the magical focus, mumbling the, to her, rarely used incantation required to fashion a portkey, the location firmly entrenched in her head.

The thief was curious as to what particular location she'd selected for their arrival, but trusted her enough to see, rather than ask.

Harry had already fitted them both with emergency variants using a different phrase that would whisk them away in case there was unexpected trouble.

"Ready?" she asked, holding the item between them. Harry touched the cool stone, and in an instant found himself enveloped in near darkness, save for a few narrow slits of illumination. Shifting his weight to look around, a not insignificant creak of wood accompanied the action.

Confused, he made to ask where in the seven hells this was when it suddenly clicked. The only thing wooden inside that museum was the Sun Ship. Oh yes, she was very smart. The large and very old boat was off-limits to visitors, and the inside not subject to visual patrols, or within range of any motion, infrared, or thermal sensors, though the Egyptians hadn't the funds for such sophisticated technology on a large scale.

Of course, the reason for this was that it was a really old boat, as demonstrated by the size ten combat boot that just broke through a dry-rotted plank. Harry resisted the urge to swear, and Hermione fired an impervious charm at the floor, the light splashing over the surface before seeping into the material.

"Sorry, I should have warned you not to walk yet." She whispered, a narrow beam of illumination now shining a light on his predicament.

Harry cast an area silencing charm before attempting to pull his foot from the floor of the priceless artifact. The mishap had been quite loud, at least from their perspective.

It took a few seconds and enlarged the hole, but the leg was free. A simple repair charm undid the damage, and perhaps even some of the wear caused by a thousand years of dry climate.

A quick visual check later, and the pair found themselves standing on the main deck.

"What was your idea to get across?" Harry asked, thinking perhaps a levitation charm, or grappling hook and rope. Hermione though simply conjured a sturdy, wide plank and with a small sideways movement of the wrist, levitated it across the gap.

Soundlessly her rubber soles connected with the polished tile floor, already charmed to be silent. Harry suppressed a grin as he crossed, and vanished the plank behind them. She was quite adept at using magic to aid them in moving around the museum, while also keeping to the walls and shadows whenever possible, never out in the open.

It was refreshing to watch her work, despite never having received any formal training, and lacking experience.

The fragment would be in the next room. It was as he remembered it. Because of its relatively small size compared to most of the exhibits, the stone resided in a glass case. The glass, he knew, is embedded with finely spun copper, thin enough to be invisible, woven into a grid that, if disrupted, would trigger the alarm.

Cutting the glass was therefore out of the question. That meant lifting the case, which was secured to the base via an electronic lock. Tamperproof, and again tied into the security system. Said base was anchored to a large limestone block that acted as a table, as was the general theme throughout most of the museum.

There were a number of avenues available to them. One was to vanish the case, triggering the alarm. Another option would be to transfigured the stone underneath into sand, exposing the wiring that was embedded within, and sever it, again raising the alarm.

Harry opted for a combination of the two, transfiguring a select portion of the limestone and gain access to the circuitry, which he then spliced and interfaced with device of his own making, emulating the secure enclosure further up the line.

The case vanished, allowing him to retrieve the fragment without much fanfare. Or so he thought.

"Excellent work, Harry, though completely unnecessary." Came a hissed compliment from behind them. "The guards are already dead, you see, and the alarm disabled."

The Hare's blood ran cold. He knew that voice. Slowly he turned, not bothering with pulling a wand. If it was truly him, then he had no chance.

"Impossible." the thief muttered, identifying the speaker. "You're dead."

Voldemort, whole and healthy, chuckled with mirth.

"I can't be killed, Harry. Now, hand over that stone in your hand, as well as the other you took."

"Return." He whispered, expecting the portkeys to whisk them to safety. The Dark Lord's amusement only grew, having clearly picked up on the attempt, and seeing his growing horror.

Potter's eyes darted around, finding familiar faces from the museum heist in London. Dorian Grey and Bellatrix Lestrange, both survivors of that ill-fated ambush, back at the British Museum. And yet, Voldemort had replenished his ranks with relative ease.

But even more worrisome than the Death Eaters were the dozen or more stone sculptures that formed a semi-circle around the two, ready to crush them like insects.

"You're wondering how I was able to replicate the spell you used." Voldemort stated, as if reading his mind. He produced a familiar book, and Harry couldn't quite suppress the urge to curse out loud.

"Knowledge beyond compare." He stated, reading from the last page, almost with reverence. "More valuable than any physical treasure, isn't it? It's what separates the great from the complacent masses. And now, thanks to this book, that knowledge is within my grasp."

Voldemort raised his wand.

"I shall not be denied, Harry. Not again. Hand over the stones, and I shall spare the girl a painful death. You however? No, you will suffer, for costing me control of England."

There was no way to fight their way out. No way to flee. Curse him! How had that manuscript found its way into his hands? But he had one last ace up his sleeve. Actually, it was more like a jack, but anything was better than their capture, torture, and eventual death at the hands of these animals.

"I'm afraid I can only hand over the piece in my left hand." He replied truthfully. The wand pointing at them inched higher, the tip now glowing ominously.

"You see, I've hidden the original Rosetta stone as a precaution. Somewhere where you'll never find it. Let us go, unharmed, and it is yours."

"What makes you think you can just barter with Lord Voldemort?" the Dark Lord bellowed, composed but angry. "Even if you speak the truth, I'll simply extract the information with Veritaserum from your broken body!"

"I think not!" Harry snapped back, letting some emotions bleed into his response for the first time. "Do you know what Cyanide is, Voldemort, and how the muggles use it?"

Beside him, Hermione's eyes went wide.

He tapped his jaw. "Even the torture curse would likely split the capsule embedded in the tooth. Of course, I'll happily deny you that pleasure long before you have a chance to use it on me. Do you really want to risk losing all of that knowledge, Voldemort? Just to settle a score?"

"Really, Harry? Muggle poison?" he laughed, though it certainly did not reach his eyes. "A simple Beozer will have you right as rain."

"And you happen to have one with you?" Harry calmly inquired, calling his bluff. "It kills within seconds. Quicker than even the most potent magical poisons."

Voldemort snarled.

"What are your terms?"

"As I've said, let us go."

"Unlikely. Lead me to the stone fragment, and I shall spare one of you. Your piece is not worth both your lives."

"I beg to differ." He countered, as if haggling with a street vendor at the bazaar instead of for their very lives. "The piece in my possession holds a much greater amount of information than this," he hefted the not insubstantial rock. "Besides, what threat could we possibly be once the completed stone is yours?"

His heart was hammering in his chest. "You hold all the cards, Lord Voldemort." Harry said, swallowing back the bile at using the honorific. "Play them correctly, and victory shall be yours."

The Dark Lord bared his teeth, knowing full well when someone was trying to butter him up. He detested the attempt, but had to admit that the boy's words rang true.

But he needed wrest back control of these negotiations, loathe as though he was to admit.

"Very well. The stone tablet you've hidden, for the girl's life. Now, hand over the piece that's in your hand, and send her along."

A sinister look washed over his nose-less features. "My death eaters will do their utmost to make her comfortable until such a time as you can deliver the fragment."

Harry glanced at her, concerned beyond belief, until she pulled the fragment close to her. She also handed over her wand, coming close to whisper in his ear.

"Take detailed photographs of the larger fragment. She pulled out her cellular, and snapped a quick picture, their bodies obscuring the action.

She kissed him on the check to complete the ruse.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, yet again." Harry muttered, their foreheads touching.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't, Harry. I have only myself to blame. Perhaps if I'd secured the manuscript properly…" she stopped. "Please be careful."

He squeezed her hand. "I will."

Reluctantly, she stepped away, her trembling becoming nearly uncontrollable when the Dark Lord accepted her, arm raised, his midnight black cloak obscuring her from Harry's vision.

"Voldemort!" the Hare shouted, causing the pale face to turn, a single red eye locking onto him.

"Salah El Din Al Ayouby Citadel. One hour. And Voldemort? Not a hair on her head out of place."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry ran, each step like a miniature thunderclap in the otherwise silent museum. He didn't care. The apparition wards were still in place, and he needed to clear them. A large window up ahead signaled a possible way out, and he viciously blasted an opening, hastily erecting a shield to absorb the shrapnel that hurdled his way.

Feeding a bit of magic into the shrunken broom resting in the palm of his hand, the thing reverted to its original size.

Proper broom etiquette flew out the window as he leaped from the gaping hole in the side of the museum, mounting the flying contraption midair, before corkscrewing up at a thirty-degree angle at maximum speed, the hard gee's of acceleration making the wood groan ominously. With a loud crack, he was gone.

oOo

Three hours earlier;

Potter was leaning against the polished stone wall of the men's room, adjacent to the vanities, arms folded, and an impatient look to him. In his pocket rested the still warm time turner, its grains nearly depleted following this last jump. It was light out again, perhaps a quarter to seven. The museum he once again found himself in would be closing soon, and there was still much to do before the night ran its course.

He glanced at the wristwatch once more, the third time in as many minutes. Hermione and his past self should be making their way towards the entrance, blissfully unaware of the turbulent events to come.

More than once had he wanted to warn them off, avoid their future encounter with Voldemort, but knowing full well that it would tear them, and himself, asunder if he meddled with time in such a fashion.

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the seemingly limitless possibilities of magic as he observed himself walk in. The other Harry froze, instantly on guard. Recalling the conversation from the other side of the coin, word for word, he repeated what he'd heard from future Harry, thus saving himself, and anyone else directly impacted by this loop, from certain oblivion.

"Be at ease. I am you, from the future, here to collect the Rosetta stone fragment for safekeeping."

Predictably, his past self was unconvinced. He'd know. A few short hours ago, that had been him.

"An interesting claim, though Polyjuice is far more likely."

Already knowing the answer, Harry slowly pulled his wand, making sure not to point it at his other-self. With practiced, though rarely used movements, he cast his signature patronus.

A Hare.

"This is more difficult to fake, no?"

At least he didn't have to worry about revealing too much, knowing exactly what he needed to say to obtain the Rosetta stone. Harry wondered if, by doing this, countless versions of himself were doomed to spend the rest of eternity repeating information to each other in a Museum bathroom in Cairo.

There was no end to this. The Harry he was currently engaging in conversation would fill his shoes in three hours, speaking to a Harry Potter who did not yet exist to either of them, and for him, never would.

Time travel, he concluded, gave him headaches.

"Proceed with your plan as if I were never here." He stressed. "This is important. You cannot run, as much as you wish to."

The other Harry frowned. "Not very reassuring, you coming all the way into the past to collect the fragment."

"Oui." He agreed. "But fear not, for you will have a plan in place by the time you stand in this room once again."

"That's reassuring." He muttered, handing the shrunken fragment over, almost reluctantly. The two soon parted ways, leaving future Harry alone once more, satisfied that he'd conveyed the warning not to skip town in a satisfactory manner.

Shrouding himself in his signature disillusionment charm, Harry set out to find the second fragment. He may as well make the switch before Voldemort arrived, and rig the decoy as an improvised explosive device, should the deal turn sour. He had a feeling it would. Why else would he have traveled back in time to do this?

His thoughts returned to his arch-nemesis, and his never-ending quest to see Harry dead. By dictating the meeting place and the short notice, Harry had ensured he wasn't walking into yet another trap.

The turn of events had been so sudden; so swift that he had almost no time to formulate a plan. At least the encounter with the other Harry told him he needed to use the time turner. Following the Rosetta stone's handover, his course of action became clearer.

Harry would infiltrate his ranks immediately ahead of their planned ambush, and take back his Inspector before the proposed swap would ever occur, thus retaining both fragments.

But more importantly, he didn't trust Voldemort, or his Death Eaters with Hermione. Waiting, even an hour, was not an option.

oOo

Stunning a straggler had been relatively easy. He'd considered ending the man's life, but delivering a killing curse to his unprotected back was not something Harry wanted to become used to doing. Killing in self-defense erased most, though not all of the wizards conflicted views on taking life, though it had become more of a necessity as of late, he grimly concluded.

Watching Hermione, terrified and clutching the fake stone fragment, without acting was a great deal more difficult. Now, donning full Death Eater regalia, he did his best to get close to her. The man Hermione had described as Dorian Gray was holding her firmly by the arm, though he seemed about as happy to be here as she was.

"Nott. Goyle. Scout the location Potter provided, and report back. He didn't give himself a lot of time, but it may still be enough to set up traps."

The two men beat a hasty retreat, leaving Voldemort to address the Inspector.

"As for you. Potter may think he's in control, but you are very much at the mercy of me, and my Death Eaters."

A round of chuckles followed, which Harry did not partake in. Fortunately, whatever sick ideas Voldemort could concoct were put on hold, as the alarm wailed to life following a distant boom.

His past self-had just vacated the building, setting off the perimeter alarm, which hadn't been deactivated. It was time for them to vacate the Museum as well. The muggles could be dealt with, but given enough time, they will prove to be a nuisance.

The first police vehicles were already in front of the doors when the group emerged, likely nearby patrol units who'd been routed their way. The Egyptians didn't take too kindly to robbers, especially when it came to their heritage. Tourism was big business here, and the punishments for theft were harsh, doled out swiftly.

With a bit of transfiguration, the vehicles turned into savage beasts that quickly mauled the officers using them for cover.

The apparation wards were lifted, and Harry quickly latched onto the nearest body, as he did not know their destination.

The unintentional side along badly splinched the Wizard, who hadn't adjusted for the extra passenger. Fortunately for him, whoever powered the apparation usually received the brunt of the damage in the event of a mishap. Harry was quick to distance himself as his pained cries carried across the moonlit sand dunes.

They were in the desert.

"What in Merlin's' name happened to him?" an unnamed Death Eater asked, rushing to his side, while another added; "What a mess."

And it was. Both legs were gone, nowhere to be found. The baggy clothes made it difficult to tell, but he may have lost the whole pelvic bone as well.

"No way we can fix this," the first muttered, assessing the injuries as the commotion drew others in.

"Back away," Lestrange ordered, and a moment later the screaming stilled, a killing curse putting the unfortunate sod out of his misery.

"If you can't even manage a simple thing like apparation, you don't deserve to serve your Lord," she sneered, addressing the others. The sand quickly swallowing up the body, or what was left of it.

Harry fell in line, the group heading towards the hastily set up camp. It was nothing fancy. A few blankets placed over the sand, around a lit fire, while the harsh desert wind was kept at bay with rudimentary transfigured windbreaks. There was a single tent, and Harry watched Voldemort enter, along with a few select others.

Hermione was roughly shoved to the ground, hands now tied behind her back, and a cloth tied around her mouth. The stone fragment was somewhere else. Harry had lost track of it.

"Do with her as you please," Bellatrix sneered, before disappearing behind the canvas as well.

They needed no encouragement, though there seemed to be some squabbling over who was to go first.

Damn those monsters! He'd seen enough. Pulling the cheap mobile he'd purchased earlier, he was pleased to note that there was service here. They must not be far from the valley then.

Dialing the pre-saved number, his thumb jammed the green connect button, and a scant moments later the tent detonated spectacularly. It had been a challenge to emulate the smaller fragment's original weight, as the explosives were much lighter than the granite they replaced. A lead liner, much denser than even the rock, ensured that Voldemort would be none the wiser.

At the time, he wondered if this was an escalation, blowing up your enemy like a militant. He was a thief, not a terrorist.

After today, one thing was certain. He wouldn't have any doubts about killing those scumbags from now on. Not after what they'd just attempted, and nearly succeeded in doing.

The remaining Death Eaters scrambled, their previous activity forgotten. He would have loved to curse them. Tear them apart.

But his priority was Hermione and getting her to safety.

Harry skillfully made his way over to her, emulating the panicked movements of the others as they tried to figure out what had attacked them.

She had fought back, he noted and earned herself a black eye, the swelling already making it difficult for her to see.

An inhuman scream came from the crater in the ground, where the tent had stood, emanating from a massless darkness which contrasted against the faintly illuminated sand as it raced around the campsite.

It hit one of the men, who convulsed but did not fall. Harry, along with the others, stood rooted in place, watching in fear and trepidation. That was, until the man ripped his mask off, face contorted in absolute fury.

"Get him," he hissed, eyes lighting up red, hand extended, finger pointed right at him. Harry was within arm's reach of her by then. Without a warning, he activated his portkey, making sure she was in direct contact with it.

oOo

Hermione panicked after the portkey ride. After what she'd just seen, and endured, it was expected. Her left eye throbbed in pain, each furious beat of her heart causing it to spike. The trip had been quick, no more than fifty kilometers, judging by the duration. Wherever she was, it was dark, with only a faint amount of light entering through windows of the other side of the room.

Breathing hard, she managed to shuffle herself upright awkwardly, eye darting around, on the lookout for threats. She found one. A masked Death Eater. The one who'd taken her. And he was close. Kicking out, her foot solidly connected with his midriff, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Wait!" he held out a gloved hand, while the other fought off another follow-up kick, deflecting the limb to the side and holding on tightly, tucking it under his armpit to prevent a follow-up attack.

"Hermione, It's me. Harry!"

He ripped off the mask, and upon recognizing his features, the fight finally left her.

"You're safe! You're safe." He muttered over and over, almost chanting the words as he scooting close, pulling her into his chest. The tears began to well up almost immediately. She sobbed into his shoulder as they both sat awkwardly on the floor, between the couch and coffee table.

"You're safe." He whispered one last time as if to convince himself of the fact, stroking her hair with a shaky hand. The adrenaline glut he'd ridden for the last ten minutes was rapidly leaving his system, and the crash was making him feel physically ill.

He ignored his discomforts to attend to her needs.

With his wand still out, he carefully cut her bonds, and she wrapped her arms around him, crying even harder. The gag had fallen away, around her neck, covering some of the freshly forming bruises there, though they were impossible to see in the darkened room.

She could feel them, skin sensitive. It hurt to swallow.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione." Harry managed to choke out, voice thick with emotion. "None of this would have happened, had I not taken you from Paris."

She hugged him tighter but remained tight-lipped, the tears still flowing. The shaking was getting out of hand, and even his tight hold on her couldn't completely suppress the reaction.

Minutes passed, simply holding onto him, not ever wanting to let go. Reluctantly, she eventually did, having calmed down somewhat, and the tears mostly dry. He switched on the lights to take stock of her injuries, causing her to squint, which hurt her other eye. They were back in the hotel room in Cairo, she noted. He must have used the original emergency portkey.

oOo

"We should be safe for the moment, but-"

Turning, his response died, looking at her.

The sight made his heartbreak. In the perhaps thirty seconds it had taken to neutralize Voldemort, those savages had inflicted much damage on her fair features.

The physical ailments he could heal, but there would be lasting damage, emotionally. Of that, he had no doubt.

Harry gently sat her down on the couch, starting with pulling potions from his luggage. A calming drought, followed by a general-purpose healing potion that immediately set to work undoing the bruising around her neck and wrists, where the rope had dug into the sensitive skin.

A spell returned her vision to normal, the swelling subsiding in a manner of seconds.

Next, he tore off the heinous robes making up the disguise, throwing them into the corner. The draught had helped immensely, though she seemed more catatonic now, even as he worked.

Harry reevaluated their current situation. They needed to move. It wasn't safe here.

Rising, he fetched the clothes she'd worn when they checked in earlier. Leaving in their state, with her clothes half torn, would attract unwanted attention.

"Hermione. It's time to leave." He plucked her hand from her lap, rubbing the knuckles gently with his thumb. Much to his relief, Hermione nodded, pulling herself back from whatever place she'd been heading towards, and rose, though a little shakily. Harry was already packing their things and shrunk everything down to fit inside a pocket.

The room was paid for, so it was as simple as leaving the room key on the front desk and hopping into the already waiting car. He'd phoned ahead to the valet office, requesting the vehicle be made available.

oOo

She woke to the crackle of thrumming string music and Arabic lyrics, mixed with the whistling wind and the hum of a car's engine.

Then the pain made itself known. Bon Dieu, her face was tender! With a hiss, she sat up straight, hand reflexively brushing over the area.

"Don't touch that." A voice she recognized ordered in a berating tone, before softening. "The tissue is quite sensitive, and I don't need you aggravating it."

"Pardon." she croaked distractedly, instead looking around. She must have fallen asleep shortly after departing the Hotel. The sun was just making its appearance on the Eastern horizon, bathing the lush, green river shore in golden light. With a sigh, she gazed upon the magical sight of the Nile at first light.

Beside her, Harry was looking less at piece, his usually untamable locks a literal crow's nest, eyes hidden behind a set of aviator shades.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, knowing the answer would be anything but 'good'.

"Grateful to be alive," she stated. "-and all thanks to your quick thinking. I was their captive for perhaps five minutes before you came to my rescue. And not a moment too soon."

"I had a little help." He admitted, showing her the now useless time turner. She took it, playing with the rings absentmindedly.

Harry watched her for a few moments, his frown deepening.

Minutes later, she caught him glancing down towards the meandering river below again, something he'd noticed her doing since waking.

"Looking for a good place to park?" she inquired, the question only just audible to him.

"In fact, I am. We both need proper rest, and time to decompress. I fear this last encounter has pushed us to the raggedy edge."

She hmm'd in agreement, the calming draught still quite potent in her system.

The car, under Harry's experienced control, began to descend. They'd passed a farming community a few minutes prior, and as far as the muggle population was concerned, there didn't seem to be any in this seemingly isolated stretch of shoreline.

The car gently touched down in a small clearing on a narrow, palm tree-covered island that likely flooded in the wet season. The white-walled tires cut deeply into the soft sand, slowing the Mercedes down rapidly.

Harry cut the engine, deftly extracted himself before assisted her in exiting. She looked around in interest, observing the palm trees sway in the breeze and the water lap against the shore.

"Are we simply stopping to stretch our legs?" she asked, not aware the convertible's trunk held a fully kitted magical tent. He pulled the bulky bag from the back, and carefully laid it out on a flat clearing dominated by chest-high reeds.

"Not quite," he answered, giving her a playful wink. With a flick of his wand, the unassuming mass of cloth and canvas expanded, quickly exfoliating into a Bedouin Style tent.

It quickly enveloped the car, shading it from the still weak morning sun. The set up took less than a minute, and following that, Harry wove a series of wards designed to hide them. The process took substantially longer. Hermione recognized many of them, and her shoulders slumped in relief as the last of snapped into place. Some of the tension melted away, her mind finally accepting that they were truly safe.

In fact, they'd be nigh untraceable.

Harry led her inside, and into a comfortable space consisting of cream and brown colored fabric walls, vibrant oriental rugs, and above all, a plush, white linen bed, with hanging insect screen, though charms made the latter more of a décor item. The screen wasn't actually required, what with repelling charms, but it was a nice touch.

"Facilities are over there, I believe,'' he stated, practically reading her mind. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be right outside." After a much-needed shower in an old fashioned claw-footed enamel tub, complete with floating pipe and showerhead, she was truly spent. He'd laid out her nightgown just inside the designated bathing area, and she gratefully slipped into the cool, crisp sheets of the bed with a sigh.

Harry had deposited himself on the couch, having placed both pieces of the Rosetta stone in front of him. Before he could start on mending it, she mumbled his name.

"Harry?"

"Oui?" He responded, looking up at the bed.

"Lay with me? Please?" she sounded unsure, but Harry wasn't about to deny her request. Taking off his reading glasses, he next dimmed the old fashioned kerosene lantern hanging from the tent's main support, before making his way over. She followed his movements from underneath the sheets, pulled up to her chin. After a moment of indecision, he opted to pull the shirt off, before sliding in beside her, pulling himself close and draping an arm around her slender midriff.

Within a minute she was out like a light, despite the earlier nap in the car. Sleep did not come so easily for Harry however, as he watched her rhythmic breathing, one hand propping up his head, the other held hostage by her firm grip.

oOo

He woke abruptly to the sound of moaning and whimpering, initially thinking they were under attack. It only took a second to realize it was a bad dream that had plagued her.

Not knowing what else to do, he hugged her tightly. Though it didn't settle her, Hermione did wake, her hand finding his arm.

They simply laid in bed for a few minutes, in complete silence, until a stomach growled. He feared it was his, and she giggled in amusement.

It was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

Harry rolled, unlatching himself from her. It was early evening, according to the wristwatch on the nightstand. They'd slept through most of the day, but that suited him fine.

Provisions, thankfully weren't an issue, as many of the wooden crates, often stacked five or six high, contained canned goods. Bags of grains such as rice and oats, as well as dried, salted meats could be found as well. There was even some dehydrated fruit in the form of dates and apricots.

All in all, not a bad selection, and certainly enough variety for a simple, yet filling meal. Breads, cheeses, and cured meats devoured, Hermione excused herself, eager to explore the tent better.

That was until she found the still broken stone, and the reference books Harry had laid out earlier that morning when they arrived here. And so, with a task at hand, she busied herself by mending the stone, and hopefully unlocking its secrets.

Anything to keep her mind off what happened last night.

It helped that she was genuinely curious about the Manuscript, and the stone specifically. She frowned, remembering that the former was now in Voldemort's hands.

How had he obtained it? Did someone break into her home, and take it? Realizing she'd gain nothing from the line of thought, she performed the repair charm.

The two pieces merged almost seamlessly with the help of magic, united after unknown hundreds of years apart. Like the larger one, a series of hieroglyphics and Egyptian numerals were etched into the smaller fragment. Hermione lightly traced a finger over the skillfully chiseled inscriptions, wishing she'd taken that ancient Egyptian language course in university.

Of course, she'd decided against it, favoring Latin and Greek, as most modern spells had their roots in those civilizations.

As it stood, their combined knowledge pertaining to this other, equally prosperous ancient kingdom amounted to little more than a basic awareness of its most valued artifacts, and this was thanks to their respective fields of work.

She was an Inspector with the National Police, not an archeologist, Hermione thought with a frown, standing in front of the upright stone, arms folded.

At a glance, nothing made sense. Multiple vertical columns, perhaps the width of her hand, dominated the surface, with distinct horizontal breaks at each line. Information, organized by the use of numerals?

An introductory textbook that bore the stamp of the Cologne public library did indeed confirm this. How many rows were inscribed in total then? The bottom corner was missing, forcing her to move up five rows and add said number to deduce the answer. She also counted the number of rows and multiplied them by the column.

Both times, the number was Fourteen hundred and sixty.

Armed with that information, she glossed over the terms and definitions in the back. Nothing came of it, so she repeated the task on the other books he'd signed out. She briefly chastised him mentally that they were already overdue. Such a rule breaker.

One the second to last, she struck gold. It was a tattered book, its pages yellowing with age, issued back in the twenties. She was surprised to see it survived the war. Fire had consumed many a library late in the European campaign.

Harry was slower to get into the swing of things, instead busying himself by tidying up following their meal, and checking their perimeter. The site had been chosen with haste, and although there were no fresh tracks, that didn't mean the sand bar didn't see river traffic.

Upon completing his rounds, and vanishing his footsteps, he took note of the temperature and deeming it cool enough to roll up the sides of the tent. Instantly a cacophony of noise flooded the previously quiet space, with crickets, birds, and other nocturnal insects all pitching in to create an ambient noise that served to remind them of just where they'd set up camp.

Surrounded by the Nile, in the middle of Egypt. The thought seemed surreal.

Hermione briefly acknowledged the noise and watched him finish rolling up the last of the canvas. Beyond lay the brown, murky waters, flowing steadily from left to right. The eastern shore, her brain told her.

Harry rejoined her, transfiguring the now uncomfortable chairs into a much nicer sofa. Hermione didn't even look up, still transfixed on reading, but did sigh as her body sank into the cushion. Amused, he took a seat to her left, conjuring a few pillows to support his head.

"Any progress?" he gazed at the repaired stone, then the books he'd taken along.

"Some, but nothing you haven't already mentioned." He grunted in confirmation, allowing his head to sink further into the soft material. The couch, as well as other stimuli, like her shampoo's scent and the gentle breeze blowing through the tent, proved to be his undoing, and his eyelids soon grew heavy once more.

oOo

When he woke, Hermione was no longer on the couch, instead busy…wrecking the tent's floor? A number of the carpets had been removed, exposing the flattened grasses and silt that comprised this minuscule sandbar.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, not sure if he was imagining things. She moved her wand in small, precise movements, and the damp silty earth morphed, revealing a map of the River.

"Ah, I see you've finally decided to rejoin me." She greeted back teasingly. "Honestly, how can you fall asleep again after only being up for an hour?"

He grumbled nonsensical things and peeked at a large tome that lay spread open on the collapsible wooden side table. The sketch within showed an outline of the Nile River, superimposed on an interwoven series of crisscrossing lines, with hieroglyphics noted in each corner.

It was exquisite transfiguration work considering the medium she was using, and it didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place.

"The stone references a grid system?" he muttered, now excited.

"Yes, it does. But the symbols as they are shown in this textbook-" she tapped the tome in question, "-do not correlate with the Rosetta stone. For instance, the numbers on the stone; One would be here;" she pointed towards a square sitting squarely in Upper Egypt. "But two is there." The hand moved down, nowhere near the first.

"How many squares in total?" he asked, figuring she'd already looked into it.

"Fourteen hundred and sixty." She answered, to which Harry frowned. He conjured up a whiteboard and marker, scribbling the number in the center.

"All right. Not a prime number." He thought out loud. "Can be divided by two, five, ten, and so forth."

"You forgot four." She corrected, humoring him. While she'd only had twenty minutes to solve this puzzle, it didn't hurt to let him repeat her own thought processes. He approached it differently, she found, instantly turning to math to find an answer.

Interesting.

Without a muggle calculator on hand, Harry divided the numbers the old fashioned way, while Hermione wondered just who had been his teacher. She'd never seen anyone use his method, and it certainly wasn't how she or anyone else in France had been taught.

But the result was interesting, not to mention, correct. While the divisions of two, five and ten yielded nothing, four did.

Three hundred and sixty-five to be specific. The number of days in a Georgian calendar year. Now that couldn't be a coincidence.

"The grid squares relate to the day of the year?" Hermione wondered. But if that was the case, there would be four locations for every day. That made no sense.

Harry drew a similar conclusion. "I think we may have to consult with an expert." He suggested. "There's clearly something we're missing here."

"So what, we just find some muggle with a passion for ancient Egyptian history and show them the stone? I don't know if that is a good idea, Harry."

She shrugged. "What about Bill? We were going to visit him regardless. Now though, we may be able to focus our questions better."

Now _that_ wasn't a half-bad idea.

oOo

"You know, I'm beginning to regret sheltering you at my house." The Curse Breaker said in lieu of a greeting, upon finding the unlikely couple in his humble tent on the edge of the dig site. He wouldn't even ask how they'd gotten around the goblin protections, which were widely considered to be the best of the best, as they guarded gold and precious gems against…well people like Harry.

The two, who'd been entertaining themselves by playing with Bill's pet pygmy puff, glanced up.

"Hello Bill," Hermione greeted, rising to kiss his cheek, while Harry waved from the floor, still not done with the odd magical creature he'd somehow never even read about before. The thing hummed faintly, alternating between chasing, and being chased by his finger on the carpet.

"Hermione. Harry." He greeted back, receiving two chaste kisses on either cheek. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Not another request for help, I hope?"

They both looked sheepish, confirming his suspicions.

They laid out their findings. The stone, the grids in the German textbook, and what the now lost to them Manuscript had stated. Harry left out their encounter with Voldemort in Cairo.

Bill took in the information, nodding along.

"Very good work." he praised. "The stone you liberated from the British Museum," he gestured to the mass of black in the corner of the tent. "-it's a guide, mating the Ancient Egyptian calendar to a geographical grid system."

Receiving twin blank stares, he explained further.

"The Egyptian grid system was introduced sometime in the old kingdom period, and followed the Nile in set increments." Bill stood, moving to a trunk, presumably magical, and pulled an old tome from its depths.

Taking a minute or so, he finally located what he'd been searching for, and flipped the book around to show to his guests.

It was a sketch of the Nile river, superimposed on a grid. This one was much more detailed than the Cologne library book, spanning multiple pages, and clearly showed the symbols in the top corner of each box.

"Since Egypt is surrounded by inhospitable desert, the kingdom was effectively limited to the river valley and floodplain, with only some mining activity outside that narrow, important strip of land."

He stopped for a moment to sip on a glass of water, not used to speaking this much.

"The grids are spaced into a set amount of cubits following the river, with two thousand cubits roughly equaling a kilometer. Because the valley widens and narrows in some places, the area in each section can vary. "

"What was the purpose of this system?" Hermione asked, perhaps risking getting sidetracked. The old library book hadn't held much detail.

"Well, we can't be sure," he admitted, running a calloused hand over the ginger stubble that had accumulated over the last few days. "But it's widely believed that the Pharaoh's ministers used this method to determine taxation.

The districts paid tribute, and quite often more than one was administered by the same person. Some provided foodstuffs, other laborers for civil projects. It depended on the population density, and the amount of arable land. The larger communities primarily supplied the manpower."

All right, so far that made sense.

"And the numbers?" Harry urged.

"Well, the actual number is interesting. You see, the Egyptian civil calendar year, just like the Gregorian calendar, has three hundred sixty-five days. Supposedly the calendar was introduced when Sirius rose right on the new year. But not accounting for the extra quarter day, by the fourth year, it would rise a day later.

This calendar, therefor, resets after fourteen hundred sixty years, a day known as the Apocatastasis."

"So whatever it is we're looking for is located within the grid that corresponds to our current date?" the thief concluded.

"So it would seem. But the exact year is unknown. We've been able to narrow it down to a four-year span from various accounts and records.

Four grids. That's not an insignificant amount of land to search, and without even knowing what exactly it was that they were looking for.

"Bill, can you think of why someone went to such lengths to inscribe, and then hide such an intricate treasure map? And on an official decree no less?" Hermione asked.

The curse breaker leaned back in his chair, gazing at the stone.

"Decrees were like public announcements of their day. They were meant to be seen by the population. Writing a hidden message on one is risky. Perhaps a secret society, with an important member in the Pharaoh's court? The fact that whatever is hidden moves makes it seem like a safeguard, to prevent discovery." He concluded.

"A hidden society of Parsel Tongues," Harry muttered, wondering if the gift had been more prevalent in antiquity.

Bill nodded in agreement.

"Worshippers perhaps? The Serpent god Aphophis comes to mind, though back then he'd have been known as 'Apep'. Many of the gods had temples, though certainly not the evil ones. In fact, there was an annual rite, where an effigy of Apep was built to symbolize all of the evil and darkness within Egypt, before being set alight."

He rubbed his forehead, red from the day's sun. "You could be searching for a temple dedicated to the God of Chaos. Merlin guys, you don't kid around, do you?"

Harry grinned, but Hermione was as stunned as the Curse Breaker was.

"Well, would you like to join us? I'll pay you triple the going rate of a curse breaker."

Hermione could only roll her eyes at how loosely the thief handled money. First his former dueling mentor, and now Bill.

Bill chuckled. "Tempting, but I can't break my contract with the goblins. They'd never hire me again, and in case you haven't noticed, they have a monopoly on digging rights in the country, at least when it comes to magically protected tombs. And should you find any remains in that temple of yours? That would make you in violation of their treaty."

Bill didn't need to explain to them that being on the Goblin's shit list was a very bad thing indeed.

"Very well, I see you're a man who knows how to negotiate." Harry pulled out a checkbook and signed his name, leaving the line above blank. A literal blank cheque.

Hermione paled, recalling how much money Harry actually had. And Europol had thus far been unable to gain access to his numbered Swiss accounts.

Bill laughed. "Harry, as tempting as this offer sounds, I will still have to pass. I enjoy my work and don't want to jeopardize that. Besides, what would I do in my retirement? Fleur would kill me before the year is out."

This time Harry laughed. "Well said, Monsieur Weasley. I can relate, wishing to continue something you enjoy is a wonderful reason to turn this opportunity down." He glanced at Hermione, who had clearly picked up on the insinuation and was giving him a smoldering look, and not the good kind.

"Tread carefully, Harry. I'd hate to have to give you a matching scar on the other shoulder," she warned, only half-serious. It felt good to joke.

"Regardless-" Harry returned his attention back to Bill, who shook his head at the couple's antics. "-your services were invaluable, and should we run into another wall, I trust we can use you as a springboard?" he scribbled on the piece of paper.

"Of course. Feel free to approach me if you run into another wall. Just don't antagonize the Goblins. They do not like surprises."

"Duly noted." He handed over the fully written cheque. "For your help."

The curse breaker though held out a hand, palm first. "Harry, I can't take this."

"Then consider it a donation to Arabelle's education trust fund." The thief placed it on the small desk, considering the matter closed.

"I-" he tried, but was stopped by a hand gesture. "Thank you," He finished with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Hermione had lowered her head, allowing the brown hair to hide a smile.

Soon thereafter, both were back in the hidden tent, scheming. They were left with four locations, denoted by little red flags sticking in the sand.

Each could take weeks, if not months to search, and they had no idea of how the temple, if it, in fact, was a temple at all, was hidden.

But there was one remaining avenue left to try. Dumbledore and his volume of Sly's book.

Dumbledore, who was at Hogwarts in Scotland.

oOo

Commissar Clouseau stood at rigid attention, gazing out the floor to ceiling windows in the direction of the sprawling Parisian metropolitan area, but never focusing on any one detail. The posterior wasn't as a result of addressing a superior officer, as one would assume, but simply an extension of his character. His subordinates looked up to him, and he strived to present the best he could be. Slouching would not do. Besides, his physician advised it was bad for his back.

Light rain splattered the thick tempered glass, built to withstand gale-force winds common at such a great height. In that regard, he and the glass were not that different, standing strong and rooted firmly in these uncertain times.

Two days had passed since that disastrous event in the very plaza below his feet. Light blue eyes, once filled with youthful idealism, now dulled by experience, gazed upon the very spot where she had stood. Where he'd failed her. Two days, and not a single sign of the fair Inspector who'd single-handedly wrested the horde of a lifetime from what the world was now calling the most notorious thief of the twenty-first century.

A bold claim, considering it was only a year into the new millennium. And yet, he somehow couldn't help but agree. The Crimson Hare was good. Very good. While Inspector Granger had taken the reigns early on in the investigation, when the thief first began to operate in greater Europe, Clouseau took note of the style almost immediately.

Certain tells, familiar strategies, and above all, the types of art taken. Between the Hare and the Night Fox, another animal alias for some reason, it was a very busy time indeed for the Department. But the Night fox, while almost identical to the Hare on paper, operated very differently.

No, Crimson Hare was trained by someone he knew well, despite never having met the individual. Gaspar Lemark.

The only black mark on his otherwise spotless record. And it seemed Inspector Granger was destined to follow in his footsteps.

That's where the similarities ended, however. He'd certainly never been kidnapped by his old-time rival. And therein lies the problem. Thieves, while brazen, did not act as the Hare had. It's as though he wishes to gain a reputation.

And he'd certainly managed to succeed in that regard. The media fell on the story like a pack of starving dogs. Undertones of forbidden romance appealed too many, in this city especially. The thief's dashing looks and her stunning beauty did not help matters. It seemed like a scene straight from a film, he thought with a snort of frustration.

But it was very real. His method of reaching the roof was highly unorthodox and quite reckless, yet effective. Lastly, it seemed completely unnecessary, as he was a confirmed utilisateur magique. Was it to protect their secrecy laws, or to simply avoid the involvement of his magical counterparts? They had not seen fit to contacted him as of yet.

A knock on the door pulled him from his troubled thoughts.

"Enter," he stated, loud enough to reach whoever was on the other side of the door. Through the reflection, he identified that someone as the Englishman.

Clouseau admitted that he did not treat the man fairly, despite his competence. He was inexperienced but had potential.

"Sergeant McLaggen. So good of you to finally rejoin us," he said acidly, having a good reason to do so. He could have prevented her kidnapping after all.

The man saluted smartly. "I rushed here as soon as I heard the news. As for my absence, it was a life or death family matter."

Clouseau valued honesty above all else, so for anyone to justify their actions, or in his case, lack thereof, with such a reason was serious. And while he did not like McLaggen, Inspector Granger had trusted him enough to take the man under her wing.

"What's done is done. But now that you're here, I'd like you to rejoin Inspector Granger's old team and assist them in locating her. You've achieved success before in Madrid. I doubt he will let her go once more.

The younger man's neutral expression turned into a frown.

"Commisare, permission to speak off the record."

It was not a request asked often of him. Usually, he didn't like what came after it. Regardless, he allowed it. As it stood, he needed information to build a better picture. And it looked like Mclaggen might be able to help in the manner.

"Granted. What's on your mind, son?"

Cormac looked bewildered at the change in tone but carried on regardless.

"Sir. It is my belief that Inspector Granger and the Hare are romantically involved."

The older man sincerely hoped he wasn't buying into the news circulating like an out of control wildfire.

"State your reasoning." he instead asked.

"Well sir, my first indication was the fact that he simply let her go following the abduction from the Hospital. Why would he go out of his way to help her? Not long after, she lost all drive to apprehend him. At first, I assumed she simply felt some form of gratitude towards the Hare for saving her, but upon leaving the message to steal the Rosetta stone, her demeanor changed completely."

"She seemed spiteful. Angry. There was a personal element there."

Cormac paused, looking frustrated and ashamed. "Unfortunately I was not conscious to witness their duel at the museum, however after claiming he'd escaped, she instantly knew where to find his current place of residence, not to mention the Basement containing his most valued possessions."

"Astute observations, Sergeant. But that is no proof. He very well could have kept her at his compound in Switzerland against her will." The Commissar reasoned, though there were clear gaps in the theory, and he knew it.

"There are ways to make you forget such information, and the Hare is skilled enough to do so. Yet he did not." Cormac shook his head. "That isn't all. Some five days ago, Hermione invited me to her apartment."

Now, this did surprise Clouseau. He'd known the young woman for nigh three years, and not once had she extended such an offer to a colleague. It was hard enough to get her to attend the semi-annual functions in his company. The woman was practically a shut it. A recluse, abet a very work driven one.

"While there, I noticed an open notebook pertaining to the Rosetta stone. I ascertained that it had not been touched since before the Museum heist, leading me to believe it was, in fact, the Hares. He was living with her, here in Paris."

"You knew this, yet did not speak up?"

Cormac looked down, nodding in affirmation. "I was trying to protect Hermione. But before I could confront her about it personally, my sister fell grievously ill."

Clouseau cursed, flabbergasted at her odd behavior.

"Could he have influenced her?" as much as he loathed the word, he said it anyway. "Bewitched her?"

"It is a possibility." Cormac frowned. "There are many ways to subvert another's will, magically speaking." His thoughts lingered on the prostitute he'd Imperio'd, before mentally suppressing the memory. "But she was not exhibiting the usual telltale signs. That being said, I am no expert on the subject."

The Commissar didn't know whether what was worse. On the one hand, having Granger under the Hare's influence was one of the most horrifying scenarios he could imagine. But to have her aid a master thief of her own volition? And for love?

If true, it would be a bitter pill to swallow.

"Your comments have been duly noted." the older man muttered, seemingly aging a decade in the span of a few short minutes. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes. Regarding my new assignment, I'm afraid I will have to decline. I will be taking an undetermined leave of absence to care for Sophie."

"Are you certain?" Clouseau inquired, surprised McLaggen would just abandon his superior so callously. He must genuinely believe she is doing this of her own free will. "We could use your help with this investigation."

"Under different circumstances, there would be no question and no hesitation. But I'm afraid I cannot. You see, I am her sole guardian, and now, also her sole caregiver."

The Commissar understood. He was aware of the tragedy that had struck the young Sargeant's family. Losing one's parents, at any age, is difficult. Suddenly caring for a younger sibling surely only added to the young man's woes.

"Very well." he extended his hand. "Thank you, for your service. We shall hopefully see you back here soon."

Cormac nodded, shaking his hand. "Thank you, sir. Good luck finding Hermione."

oOo

Dumbledore was weary, both physically and mentally. Routing the forces within the occupied ministry had cemented his opinion that this was a young man's game. Without the Dark Lord present, the hastily formed and executed plan had succeeded, though not without cost.

Once more Albus was reminded of the Great War, and just how many had perished therein. As headmaster, he'd known many of those fallen and injured on both sides since the tender age of eleven, both then and now. It was a tragic loss, and while they had retaken the country, the conflict had not yet run its course.

England had stabilized in the month since ousting Voldemort and his forces, but the government was a mess. Martial law was still enforced, giving acting Minister Bones unprecedented control over the country.

'Thank Merlin the woman was competent', he thought, and not for the first time. But it was a delicate balance, passing laws to weed out the corruption within the Wizengamot, and simultaneously preventing a sharp polarization of the population, which could possibly result in a full-fledged civil war.

Wizards feared change, much like muggles did. But for the purebloods, the potential repercussions were more dire. It represented a change in the status quo. A loosening of their hold on power.

And the possibility of retribution for slights committed over decades against the much more numerous 'impure' community.

The truly ancient man sat back in his chair and sighed.

Protests and counter-protests between groups supporting the pureblood agenda and those siding with the current, looser policies occurred daily, and often the inevitable clashes turned violent. Not for the first time Albus considered tabling a curfew if only to keep the rowdy masses in their homes, and safe from each other.

And so, instead of working through the growing pile of School-related documents, some of which were screaming for his attention, the Headmaster instead found himself flipping through the footnotes of what would turn into the topics for the upcoming Wizengamot meeting, acting in his official role of Supreme Mugwump instead.

That was, until a knock on the glass to his right caused the ink laden quill to still, a few millimeters from the parchment. His impressively bushy brows furrowed. Owls didn't have knuckles, last he checked.

Upon placing the feather back into the inkpot, he rose, opening the window with a flick of his wrist.

"Bonsoir, Headmaster," the young man hovering a few feet away greeted with a wave, the other hand firmly around the handle of the broom he was piloting, while his female companion nodded respectfully, sitting side-saddle behind him. "May we intrude?"

Almost automatically, he waved them in.

After receiving the unexpected 'guests' through his office window, they retired to the adjacent sitting room for tea. Dumbledore had a lot of questions, but the first one would also be his latest.

"Your arrival comes as a surprise." He pursed his lips, savoring the taste of the tea the house-elves had prepared. He'd needed the break anyway, if only for the sake of preventing another back spasm. His mind though, he feared, would be pushed to the limit for this conversation.

"How was it that you are able to bypass the wards without my knowledge?"

"Ah, yes. As much as I'd like to take credit for surprising you so, the answer to your question begins not with us, but a Hogwarts alumni, whose knowledge of the grounds allowed us entry through…" he looked towards Hermione for confirmation. "-the Ravenclaw quidditch stand?"; himself unfamiliar with the house system of the school.

She nodded in affirmation, pleased he had been paying attention during the trip here. Albus eyed the broom resting in the corner of the stone arch connecting his office to the adjacent space critically. This was no doubt one of Madam Hootch's practice brooms.

"You must have a very good relationship with this individual for him or her to reveal such sensitive information to you," Albus said dryly, not happy that the grounds had been accessed so easily.

"And on that note I must say, after the latest news, it comes as a surprise that you two…" he pointed first at Hermione, then Harry; "-are on such good terms."

Harry grinned widely, while Hermione colored slightly at the embarrassing memory. "People do stupid things for love." Was all the thief said, which was basically the same as admitting he loved her. Hermione was caught flat-footed at the comment, but his hand found hers and squeezed.

Dumbledore, for the first time, chuckled with mirth. "Wise words indeed, Mr. Potter. But nonetheless, I'd like to ensure Inspector Granger is under no compulsions."

Harry deferred to his companion, who nodded, giving the Headmaster permission to conduct the scan. Only upon casting his usual array of spells, and having them come back as negative, did he finally relax. Harry was being truthful. She was here under her own volition.

"Now, what brings you to frigid, damp Hogwarts? From what my sources tell me, you've been causing a bit of a stir in Cairo."

Again there was a reaction that could be interpreted as embarrassment, this time from both of them.

"Ahh, just a minor bump in the road." He tried to downplay the situation and the drastic steps that were required to remedy it. "Preventing Voldemort from acquiring the second Rosetta stone fragment, is all."

At this, the Headmaster's bushy white brows rose. "Is that so? A very reckless move, Harry. I trust you had a good reason to do so?"

The younger man leaned back, scratching around the wound the Headmaster no doubt knew about.

"Keeping potentially unknown and powerful magics from his grasp seems reason enough." He supplied, perhaps with a bit of cheek. "But if you must know, Voldemort was after the second fragment, and happened to be waiting for us when we arrived to take it."

"And then you blew him up?"

Harry looked up sharply, making eye contact. "And how would you know about _that_?"

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers on his lap. "I am trying to ascertain whether you are a threat, and should be allowed to remain in this school. My sources rely on anonymity to remain safe, and I am unwilling to divulge their identity or methods."

He took a sip of his tea. "What concerns me is the escalation of hostilities, and your methods specifically."

The Hare was outright frowning now.

"I realize we are here because of something in your possession but am perfectly willing to make do without it and search with what information I already have. I certainly don't answer to you, or have to justify my actions against a raving madman hell-bent on seeing me dead."

The previously cordial conversation now held some tense undertones. Dumbledore didn't wish to alienate the lad but still felt the need to condone the actions. While Albus had been busy indeed with the situation in England, Harry Potter and his baffling behavior, and more importantly, actions, were followed nonetheless with a great deal of interest. After all, it was the thief who had given them the opportunity to rout the Dark Lord and retake the country. Who knew what other opportunities he could gift them with?

Never the less, five lives had been lost in the desert last night. Two from prominent families, though the news was being kept under wraps. All that for a stone fragment.

He decided to drop the matter, confident his displeasure had been received.

"I take it you've uncovered the stone's secrets?"

Harry nodded hesitantly, but it was Hermione who explained. "The stone acts as a map, referencing the old kingdom's grid system and the civil calendar to produce a location which supposedly contained knowledge beyond compare."

"A roving destination," Albus muttered, grasping the nature of the site they sought almost immediately. It was incredibly complicated magics, long thought lost.

"You wish to see the second manuscript then?" his voice was calm, barely above a whisper.

"We do. The grids are immense in area, and unfortunately, records are sparse as to when exactly the Egyptian calendar correlates to our modern one."

"Meaning searching at multiple locations." He finished, beginning to understand the magnitude of their task. For a good long time, Dumbledore remained silent, processing, and also wondering about the nature of what it was that was hidden so well by the Ancient Egyptians.

Finally, there were the two youngsters themselves, seeking this mysterious trove of knowledge, as they described it.

"I shall allow you access to the Manuscript-," the much older man stated finally, but the phrasing was not lost on them. "-however, it comes with certain conditions."

Looking over the half-moon spectacles, he locked eyes with the thief, then the Inspector.

"Conditions?" Harry repeated warily, as he should be in these troubled times.

"Indeed. Seeking relics from the old world is always fraught with danger. I require your assurances that should you come across information in the Manuscript, a repeat of the British Museum does not occur."

Harry nearly flinched at the reminder of his rash decisions, and reckless use of such advanced magics. But it was not an unreasonable request by any stretch.

"Are there any more?" he stated in lieu of agreeing.

"Oh yes, most certainly. I will also need to insist on an Order escort. She has curse-breaking experience, and will hopefully keep you alive should your search bear fruit."

Harry's unease grew. "She?"

"Auror Tonks of course." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, but inside he fought a battle to keep from laughing out loud. Their interactions with the Metamorph at the Madrid safe house had been highly amusing, and would no doubt vex the young thief. Or should he say, thieves?

"Bon Sang." Both swore, at which point their host cracked and chuckled merrily.

* * *

 **A/N: and so, the plot chugs along. We are getting closer to the finale, perhaps three or four chapters away, depending on how they are split. Thanks for reading.**


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